SARA  LORD  BAILEY 


WORK  AND  ART 


BY 


SARA    LORD    BAILEY. 


"  Gather  instruction  from  thy  youth  up, 
So  shalt  thou  find  wisdom  till  thine  old  age." 


PUBLISHED    BY 

GEO.  H.  WALKER   &   CO., 

160  TREMONT  STREET, 

BOSTON,  MASS. 


COPYRIGHT,    1898, 
BY  SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 

All  rights  reserved. 


"  Knowledge  to  the  soul 

Is  life,  and  liberty,  and  peace, 

And  while  eternal  ages  roll, 

The  joys  of  knowledge  shall  increase." 


1  The  torch  of  genius  is  lighted  at  the  altar  of  enthusiasm. 


These  fifteen  elocutionary  exercises  are  presented  in  the  order 
which  has  commended  itself  through  several  year's  experience  in  pub- 
lic reading  and  instruction. 

The  exercises  are  named  WORK,  as  work  is  the  price  to  be  paid  to- 
attain  excellence  in  the  art,  even  by  those  with  natural  qualifications.. 

The  ART  finds  expression  in  the  selections,  which  form  the  clos- 
ing part  of  the  book. 

SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 
Lawrence,  Mass. 

Nov.  loth,  1898. 


1268819 


LAWRENCE,  MASS.,  NOVEMBER  8,  1898. 

Mrs.  Sara  Lord  Bailey  has  been  for  several  years  a  public 
reader,  and  as  such  has  been  favorably  known  over  a  large  part  of 
the  United  States  and  Canada.  She  has  also  had  considerable  experi- 
ence as  an  instructor. 

She  has  now  more  fully  embodied  the  principles  of  her  art  in  a 
series  of  exercises,  which  seem  to  me  to  make  an  admirable  text-book, 
either  for  classes  or  for  self  instruction. 

WILLIAM  E.  WOLCOTT, 
Pastor  of  Lawrence  Street  Congregational  Church. 


HAMPTON,  N.  H. 

I  have  examined  these  fifteen  elocutionary  exercises,  and  am 
much  pleased  with  them.  The  order  is  natural  and  progressive.  The 
easy  exercise  leads  to  the  one  a  little  more  difficult,  and  this  to  one 
still  more  difficult.  It  is  as  helpful  a  course  of  instruction  in  elocu- 
tion as  I  have  seen.  And  I  heartily  add  my  commendation  of  the 
author  as  one  thoroughly  equipped  for,  as  well  as  naturally  adapted 
to  instruction  in  her  chosen  department ;  and  as  a  wise,  diligent,  en- 
thusiastic and  successful  teacher  of  elocution. 

J.  A.  Ross, 
Pastor  of  Congregational  Church. 


BOSTON  SCHOOL  OF  ORATORY,   J-A  Beacon  St. 

Boston,  July  5th,  1888. 

Sara  Lord  Bailey's  entertainments  are  fine  art  representations  of 
the  humor,  pathos  and  passion  of  our  best  English  and  American 
authors.  She  has  the  true  art  temperament  in  voice,  action  and  power 
to  hold  her  audiences.  She  has  few  superiors  now  before  the  public. 
Our  graduating  classes  have  averaged  sixteen  in  number ;  some  of 
whom  have  made  very  creditable  reputations  as  public  readers,  but 
NO  ONE  has  met  with  so  great  popular  success  as  has  Mrs.  Bailey.  I 
am  certain  that  she  will  fill  with  entire  success  any  appointments 
made  for  her. 

MOSES  TRUE  BROWN, 
Principal  of  Boston  School  of  Oratory. 


MISSOURI  SCHOOL  FOR  THE  BLIND, 

St.  Louis,  Mo.,  June  19,  1889. 
To  -whom  it  may  concern : 

I  take  much  pleasure  in  testifying  to  the  excellent  work  done  by 
Mrs.  Sara  Lord  Bailey  as  teacher  of  elocution  in  this  school.  The 
progress  of  her  pupils,  even  those  with  seemingly  little  talent,  was 
rapid ;  and  in  all  cases  the  work  was  thorough.  To  those  who  desire 
the  services  of  a  faithful  and  competent  teacher,  or  a  reader  of  re- 
markable power  and  ability,  I  cheerfully  recommend  her. 

Respectfully, 

JNO.  T.  SIBLEY,  A.  M.,  M.  D.,  Supt. 


ST.  Louis,  Mo. 

Mrs.  Sara  Lord  Bailey,  verily,  easily  affords  an  expense  of  vital, 
vigorous,  happy,  healthful  power  in  her  dramatic  recitals  which  wins 
an  audience  every  time !  Charming  in  person,  of  unimpeachable 
character,  highly  educated  in  every  department  of  her  chosen  profes- 
sion, and  combining  noticeably  strong  dramatic  instinct  with  exquisite 
finish  of  art.  Well,  she  needs  only  to  be  seen  and  heard  as  a  public 
reader  to  be  enthusiastically  endorsed. 

Very  respectfully, 

ED.  L.  MCDOWELL, 
Professor  Elocution,  St.  Louis  University. 


I.    EXERCISE, 


POSITIONS.  BOWS. 

1.  COMPOSED  i.  POLITE 

2.  ADVANCING  2.  MARTHA  WASHINGTON 

3.  RETREATING 

4.  WAVERING 


POSITION  ON  THE  PLATFORM. 

"Graceful  position  precedes  graceful  action." — Austin. 

The  speaker  should  stand  easily  erect  in  a  graceful,  dignified 
attitude,  with  the  breast  fronting  the  audience,  head  natural,  hands 
hanging  by  the  side.  There  is  something  in  this  first  COMPOSED 
POSITION  which  may  prejudice  the  audience  either  in  his  favor  or 
against  him,  — then  as  the  speaker  warms  and  glows  with  enthus- 
iasm, he  steps  forward  with  the  right-foot,  throwing  the  weight  upon 
it,  this  ADVANCING  POSITION  places  him  in  sympathy  with  his  listen- 
ers. The  body  retreats  to  the  BACKWARD  POSITION  when  the  senti- 
ment expresses  —  dread,  fright,  horror  or  anything  akin  to  these. 

When  he  is  uneasy,  constantly  changing  the  weight  from  one 
foot  to  the  other,  he  shows  bashfulness,  indecision,  or  anxiety,  etc. 
This  is  called  the  WAVERING  POSITION — and  should  not  be  indulged 
in  unless  the  sentiment  requires  it. 

BOWS. 

1.  POLITE  Bow  : — 

A  graceful  inclination  of  the  head,  bending  the  body  slightly. 

2.  MARTHA  WASHINGTON  : — 

Draw  right-foot  back,  holding  the  dress  on  either  side,  make 
small  courtesy,  merely  bending  the  knees. 


BREATHING. 

1 .  EFFUSIVE  or  Flowing. 

2.  EXPULSIVE  or  Rushing. 

3.  EXPLOSIVE  or  Bursting. 


8 

1.  EFFUSIVE. 

(Inhale  slowly  and  naturally,  give  out  the  breath  in  the  sound  of 
the  letter  "  K") 

2.  EXPULSIVE. 

(Inhale  slowly,  exhale  on  the  word  "  Ha.") 

3.  EXPLOSIVE. 

(Take  a  full  inspiration,  extend  both  arms  forward,  expel  breath 
quickly  and  with  force,  on  the  vowel  sound  "  /"  At  the  same  time 
stepping  backward  with  right- foot,  arms  falling  apart.) 


DRILL  OF  THE  SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS. 

(Practice  daily  for  excellence  in  reading.) 
eel,    ale,    air,   farm,   fall,   fold,    ooze. 


DRILL  TO  ATTAIN  FLEXIBILITY  OF  FINGERS,  WRISTS, 
HANDS  AND   BODY. 

FINGERS  AND  HANDS.  BODY. 

1.  SHAKING  FINGERS  i.  ROTATE  LEFT — HEAD  RIGHT 

2.  SHAKING  HANDS  2.  ROTATE  RIGHT — HEAD  LEFT 

3.  UP  AND  DOWN  3.   SWING  FORWARD HEAD  BACKWARD 

4.  SIDE  TO  SIDE  4.  SWING  BACKWARD — HEAD  FORWARD 

5.  INWARD  AND  OUTWARD     5.  BEND   AND    RISE  IN  RAPID    SUCCES- 

6.  ROTATE  RIGHT  AND  LEFT  SIGN 


VOICE   AND   GESTURE   DRILL. 


THE    FAIRIES. 
Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  daren't  go  a- hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men  ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  white  owl's  feather  ! 


Down  along  the  rocky  shore 

Some  make  their  home, 
They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 

Of  yellow  tide-foam  ; 
Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  black  mountain- lake, 
With  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs, 

All  night  awake. 

High  on  the  hill-top 

The  old  king  sits  ; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray 

He's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 
With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 
On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses  ; 
Or  going  up  with  music 

On  cold  starry  nights, 
To  sup  with  the  Queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 

They  stole  little  Bridget 

For  seven  years  long  ; 
When  she  came  down  again 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 
They  took  her  lightly  back, 

Between  the  night  and  morrow, 
They  thought  that  she  was  fast  asleep, 

But  she  was  dead  with  sorrow. 
They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

Deep  within  the  lakes, 
On  a  bed  of  flag-leaves, 

Watching  till  she  wakes. 

By  the  craggy  hill-side, 

Through  the  mosses  bare, 
They  have  planted  thorn  trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there. 
Is  any  man  so  daring 

As  dig  one  up  in  spite, 
He  shall  find  the  thornies  set 

In  his  bed  at  night. —  William  Allingham . 


10 


II.    EXERCISE. 


BREATHING.  ARM  MOVEMENTS. 

1 .  CHEST — ACTIVE  AND  PASSIVE      i .  DESCENDING,  FRONT 

2.  ABRUPT  2.  HORIZONTAL,  OBLIQUE 

3.  DELSARTE  3.  ASCENDING,  LATERAL 

i .   ACTIVE  AND  PASSIVE  CHEST  : — 

( i .  Inhale  and  hold  chest  strongly  braced   while  repeating,  a,  e, 

1.  o,  «.)     (2.  Inhale  and  relax  chest,  breathing  out  the  word  "  Ha") 

2.  ABRUPT  : — 

(Take  a  full  inspiration,  clench  hands  and  draw  up  to  arm-pits. 
Expel  breath  suddenly  with  forcible  downward  motion  of  the  arms.) 

3.  DELSARTE  : — 

(Advance  with  the  right  foot,  rise  on  toes.  Inhale  slowly  at 
same  time  the  arms  are  curved  on  chest,  sustain  —  Relax  the  mus- 
cles. Exhale  slowly  on  the  word  "  Ha"  returning  to  position.) 

ARM   MOVEMENTS. 

ARM  MOVEMENTS  are  innumerable  and  relate  to  the  Vertical 
and  Horizontal  plane,  or  up  and  down  and  across  the  body. 

In  the  VERTICAL  or  up  and  down  plane  we  mark  three  spheres, 
i  st.  The  ASCENDING  or  elevated,  emotional  sphere.  2nd.  The  DE- 
SCENDING or  the  domain  of  the  will,  the  vital  power.  3rd.  HORI- 
ZONTAL or  mental  sphere. 

In  the  HORIZONTAL  PLANE  we  find  three  movements  in  FRONT, 
three  in  OBLIQUE,  and  three  in  LATERAL.  Our  FRONT  movements 
are  stronger,  more  direct  and  personal.  The  OBLIQUE,  general  ideas, 
and  used  more.  LATERAL  showing  remoteness  in  time  or  space. 

The  Supine,  Prone  and  Vertical  hand  carried  through  these  points 
will  suffice  for  ordinary  expression. 

The  special  movements  are  to  be  studied  only  when  these  are 
thoroughly  mastered. 


DRILL  OF  THE  SEVEN  SHORT  SOUNDS. 

/\  S\  /\  /\  /\  X\  /\ 

it,    et,    her,    hat,    don,     tub,    book. 


1 1 
VOCAL  CULTURE  DRILL. 

Practice,  Patience,  Perseverance. 

—  —  x\     /\     /\     x\ 

Are  you,  are  you.  up,  up,  up,  up. 

Can  you  hear?  Aye!  aye!  sir. 

Me-ow,  me-ow.  Kind,  king,  kneel, 

o  o  o  o-o  o  o  o.  le,  la,  law— lo. 

Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  Charcoal  (3  times), 

Bells,  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells.  Blow  bugle  blow. 

A.  arm— ate— ask-add. 

B.  bib-boy-blaze-blue. 

c.  cease— claw— clam— click. 

D.  did-drill-dread— dross. 

E.  eve-end-even-endless. 

F.  fling-flare—flat-flew. 

G.  gleam-gloss-glad-glare. 
H.  hark— high-hail-holy. 

i.  ice-imps-inch-ink. 

j.  jill-jam-jump-joy. 

K.  kind— keep-kill-king. 

L.  linger-light-live-lost. 

M.  mother— mine-most-met. 

N.  never— none— noble-notion. 

o.  ooze— on-oak— odd. 

p.  poverty-pride-palace-perish. 

q_.  queer-quaint-quack—quick. 

R.  run-roam-red— reel. 

s.  star-sinp-ships-send. 

T.  three-times— think-taste. 

u.  urn-under-umbrella. 

v.  verily— vain-void-value. 

w.  wild— word— wind-wan. 

x.  xebec-xenotime-xanthic. 

Y.  yawn-yell—young-yellow. 

z.  zeal-zone-zero-zigzag. 


12 

ARTICULATED  WHISPER. 

1.  EFFUSIVE. 

Heard  ye  the  whisper  of  the  breeze, 

As  soft  it  murmured  by 
Amid  the  shadowy  forest  trees  ? 

It  tells,  with  meaning  sigh, 
Of  the  bowers  of  bliss  on  that  viewless  shore, 

Where  the  weary  spirit  shall  sin  no  more. 

2.  EXPULSIVE. 

[From  "  Military  Command."   —A non.~\ 

Soldiers  !  You  are  now  within  a  few  steps  of  the  enemy's  out- 
post !  Our  scouts  report  them  as  slumbering  in  parties  around  their 
watch-fires,  and  utterly  unprepared  for  our  approach.  A  swift  and 
noiseless  advance  around  that  projecting  rock  and  we  are  upon  them. 
We  capture  them  without  the  possibility  of  resistance.  One  disorderly 
noise  or  motion  may  leave  us  at  the  mercy  of  their  advanced  guard. 
Let  every  man  keep  the  strictest  silence  under  pain  of  instant  death. 

3.  EXPLOSIVE. 

"  Up  !  up  Glentarkin,  rouse  thee,  hoi !  " 

(Horror,  alarm) 

Avaunt !  and  quit  my  sight !  Let  the  earth  hide  thee  ! 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold ; 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with  ! — Shakespeare. 


III.    EXERCISE. 


DRILL  OF  THE  FOUR  DOUBLE  SOUNDS. 
isle  —  voice  —  otv  —  u 


ALPHABET  OF  ARTICULATION. 

No  excellence  in  reading  without  distinct  articulation. 

A.  ANDREW  AIRPUMP  asked  his  aunt  her  ailment. 
Did  Andrew  Airpump  ask  his  aunt  her  ailment? 
If  Andrew  Airpump  asked  his  aunt  her  ailment 
What  was  the  ailment  Andrew  Airpump's  aunt  had  ? 

B.  BILLY  BUTTONBOX  buttered  a  butter  biscuit. 
Did  Billy  Buttonbox  butter  a  butter  biscuit  ? 
If  Billy  Buttonbox  buttered  a  butter  biscuit 

Where  is  the  butter  biscuit  Billy  Buttonbox  buttered? 

C.  CAPTAIN  CRACKSKULL  cracked  a  catchpoles  coxcomb. 
Did  Captain  Crackskull  crack  a  catchpoles  coxcomb? 
If  Captain  Crackskull  cracked  a  catchpoles  coxcomb 

Where  is  the  catchpoles  coxcomb  Captian  Crackskull  crocked? 

D.  DAVID  DOLDRUM  dreamt  he  drove  a  dreadful  dragon. 
Did  David  Doldrum  dream  he  drove  a  dreadful  dragon? 
If  David  Doldrum  dreamt  he  drove  a  dreadful  dragon 
Where  is  the  dreadful  dragon  David  Doldrum  dreamt  he  drove? 

E.  ENOC  ELCRIDGE  eating  an  empty  eggshell. 
Did  Enoc  Elcridge  eat  an  empty  eggshell  ? 
If  Enoc  Elcridge  ate  an  empty  eggshell 
Where  is  the  empty  eggshell  Enoc  Elcridge  ate? 

F.  FRANCES  FRIZZLETON  figured  on  a  frenchman's  riddle. 
Did  Frances  Frizzleton  figure  on  a  frenchman's  fiddle? 
If  Frances  Frizzleton  figured  on  a  frenchman's  fiddle 
Where  is  the  frenchman's  fiddle  Frances  Frizzleton  figured  on? 


H 

Or.        GAFFER  GILLPIN  got  a  goose  and  gander. 
Did  Gaffer  Gillpin  get  a  goose  and  gander? 
If  Gaffer  Gillpin  got  a  goose  and  gander 
Where  is  the  goose  and  gander  Gaffer  Gillpin  got? 

H.        HUMPHRY  HUNCHMAN  had  a  hundred  hedgehogs. 

Did  Humphiy  Hunchman  have  a  hundred  hedgehogs? 

If  Humphry  Hunchman  had  a  hundred  hedgehogs 

Where  are  the  hundred  hedgehogs  Humphry  Hunchman  had? 

I.          INIGO  IMPY  iched  for  an  indian  image. 

Did  Inigo  Impy  ich  for  an  indian  image? 

If  Inigo  Impy  iched  for  an  indian  image 

Where  is  the  indian  image  Inigo  Impy  iched  for? 

J.         JUMPING  JOCKEY  jeered  a  jesting  juggler. 
Did  Jumping  Jockey  jeer  a  jesting  juggler? 
If  Jumping  Jockey  jeered  a  jesting  juggler 
Where  is  the  jesting  juggler  Jumping  Jockey  jeered  at? 

K.        KIMBO  KICKSET  kicked  his  kinsman's  kettle. 
Did  Kimbo  Kickset  kick  his  kinsman's  kettle? 
If  Kimbo  Kickset  kicked  his  kinsman's  kettle 
Where  is  the  kinsman's  kettle  Kimbo  Kickset  kicked  ? 

It.        LANKY  LAWRENCE  lost  his  lass  and  lobster. 

Did  Lanky  Lawrence  lose  his  lass  and  lobster? 
If  Lanky  Lawrence  lost  his  lass  and  lobster 
Where  is  the  lass  and  lobster  Lanky  Lawrence  lost  ? 

M.  MINNIE  MOSES  mused  and  moaned  momentarily. 
Did  Minnie  Moses  muse  and  moan  momentarily? 
If  Minnie  Moses  mused  and  moaned  momentarily 
Where  is  Minnie  Moses  who  momentarily  mused  and  moaned? 

N.         NITTY  NOODLE  knit  his  neighbors  nutmegs. 
Did  Nitty  Noodle  knit  his  neighbors  nutmegs  ? 
If  Nitty  Noodle  knit  his  neighbors  nutmegs 
Where  are  his  neighbor's  nutmegs  Nitty  Noodle  knit-? 

O.         OLIVER  OGLETHOKPE  ogled  an  ogling  owl. 
Did  Oliver  Oglethorpe  ogle  an  ogling  owl? 
If  Oliver  Oglethorpe  ogled  an  ogling  owl 
Where  is  the  ogling  owl  Oliver  Oglethorpe  ogled? 


I*.         PETER  PEPPERSTONE  picked  and  pickled  a  peck  of  Piper's 

peaches. 

Did  Peter  Pepperstone  pick  and  pickle  a  peck  of  Piper's  peaches  ? 
If   Peter    Pepperstone  picked   and  pickled  a  peck   of   Piper's 

peaches 
Where  is  the  peck  of  Piper's  peaches  Peter  Pepperstone  picked 

and  pickled? 

Q.         QUEENY  QUARRELSOM  quarrelled  with  an  old  queer  quack. 
Did  Queeny  Quarrelsom  quarrel  with  an  old  queer  quack  ? 
If  Queeny  Quarrelsom  quarrelled  with  an  old  queer  quack 
Where  is  the  old  queer  quack  Queeny  Quarrelsom  quarrelled 
•with  ? 

K.        RORY  RUMPUS  rode  a  raw-boned  racer. 

Did  Rory  Rumpus  ride  a  raw-boned  racer? 

If  Rory  Rumpus  rode  a  raw-boned  racer 

Where  is  the  raw-boned  racer  Rory  Rumpus  rode? 

S.  SARA  SELLY  sells  sea  shells  and  she  says  she  shall  sell  sea  shells. 
Did  Sara  Selly  sell  sea  shells  and  say  she  should  sell  sea  shells? 
If  Sara  Selly  sold  sea  shells  and  said  she  should  sell  sea  shells 
Where  are  the  sea  shells  Sara  Selly  said  she  should  sell  ? 

T.        TIP  TOE  TOMMY  turned  a  top  for  tenpence. 

Did  Tip  Toe  Tommy  turn  a  top  for  tenpence? 
If  Tip  Toe  Tommy  turned  a  top  for  tenpence 
Where  is  the  top  for  tenpence  Tip  Toe  Tommy  turned  ? 

TJ.        UGLY  USINUS  used  Urania's  umbrella, 

Did  Ugly  Usinus  use  Urania's  umbrella  ? 
If  Ugly  Usinus  used  Urania's  umbrella 
Where  is  Urania's  umbrella  Ugly  Usinus  used  ? 

V.         VALENTINE  Vox  vowed  he  vanquished  a  viper. 
Did  Valentine  Vox  vow  he  vanquished  a  viper  ? 
If  Valentine  Vox  vowed  he  vanquished  a  viper 
Where  is  the  viper  Valentine  Vox  vowed  he  vanquished  ? 

"W.       WILLIE  WIMPLETON  wept  at  a  wonderful  wedding. 

Did  Willie  Wimpleton  weep  at  a  wonderful  wedding? 

If  Willie  Wimpleton  wept  at  a  wonderful  wedding 

Where  was  the  wonderful  wedding  Willie  Wimpleton  wept  at  ? 


i6 

X.        XANTIPPE  XANTHEPINSTICK  found  Xenotime. 
Did  Xantippe  Xanthepinstick  find  Xenotime? 
If  Xantippe  Xanthepenstick  found  Xenotime 
Where  is  the  Xenotime  Xantippe  Xanthepinstick  found  ? 

Y.  YANKEE  YAWNING  yesterday  yearned  for  yeast. 
Did  Xankee  Yawning  yesterday  yearn  for  yeast? 
If  Yankee  Yawning  yesterday  yearned  for  yeast 
Where  is  the  yeast  Yankee  Yawning  yesterday  yearned  for  ? 

Z.        ZEALOUS  ZACHARIAH  zealously  sought  Zeno. 
Did  Zealous  Zachariah  zealously  seek  Zeno? 
If  Zealous  Zachariah  zealously  sought  Zeno 
Where  was  Zeno  Zealous  Zachariah  zealously  sought? 


A  LITTLE  BOY'S  POEM  AS  RECITED  BY  HIMSELF. 

An  humble  boy  with  a  shining  pail, 
Went  gladly  singing  adown  the  dale, 
To  where  the  cow  with  the  brindle  tail 
On  clover  her  palate  did  regale. 
An  humble  bee  did  gayly  sail 
Far  over  the  soft  and  shadowy  vale, 
To  where  the  boy  with  the  shining  pail 
Was  milking  the  cow  with  the  brindle  tail, 
The  bee  lit  down  on  the  cow's  left  ear, 
Her  heels  flew  up  through  the  atmosphere — 
And  through  the  leaves  of  a  chestnut  tree, 
The  boy  soared  into  futurity. 


VEHEMENCE 
This  attitude  expresses  force  in  explosion. 


IV.    EXERCISE, 


DRILL  OF  THE  HALF  VOCALS. 
b-d-g-j-v-th-z-zh 


FIRST  SET  OF  OPPOSITIONS. 
He  ad- Hand- Arm. 

1.  Hands  crossed  on  chest — Head  bowed. 

2.  Hands  out  in  salutation — Head  erect. 

3.  Hands  extended  prone — Head  back. 

4.  Hands  to  right  ascending — Head  left. 

5.  Hands  folded  at  left  shoulder — Head  right. 

6.  Hands  right  in  rejection — Head  left. 

7.  Hands  out  in  salutation — Head  raised. 

8.  Hands  clasped  at  chest — Head  bowed. 

9.  Hands  appealing  to  Heaven — Head  back. 
10.   Hands  falling  apart — Bowing  low. 


VOICE  AND  GESTURE  DRILL. 

(Musical  tones— tenderness.) 


THOSE  EVENING  BELLS. 

Those  evening  bells  !  those  evening  bells  ! 
How  many  a  tale  their  music  tells 
Of  youth,  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time 
When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime  ! 

Those  joyous  hours  are  pass'd  away ; 
And  many  a  heart  that  then  was  gay 
Within  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells, 
And  hears  no  more  those  evening  bells. 

And  so  'twill  be  when  I  am  gone, — 
That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on ; 
While  other  bards  shall  walk  these  dells, 
And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  evening  bells. 

—  Thomas  Moore. 


i8 
DIFFICULT  SENTENCES  FOR  PRACTICE. 

The  following  exercises  are  designed  for  the  cultivation  of  a  dis- 
tinct articulation : — 

1 .  Thucydides,   Herodotus,   and  Xenophon   are  the  great  historians 

of  antiquity. 

2.  That  lasts  till  night,  on  that  last  still  night. 

3.  This  act  more  than  all  other  acts,  of  the  Legislature,  laid  the  axe 

at  the  root  of  the  evil. 

4.  He  accepts  the  office,  and  attempts  by  his  acts  to  conceal  his  faults. 

5 .  Don't  you  remember  that  the  magistrates  arrested  the  rogues  ? 

6.  The  heights,  depths,  and  breadths  of  the  subject. 

7.  "  Quips,  and  Cranks,  and  -\vantoii  wiles, 

Nods,  and  Becks  and  wreathed  smiles" 

8.  "  There  on  beds  of  violets  blue, 

And  fresh  blown  roses  \vashed  in  de*w" 

9.  Virtue  alone  outbuilds  the  pyramids  ; 

Her  monuments  shall  last,  when  Egypt's  fall. 

10.  "  Because  thou  hast  not  asked  riches,   wealth,   or  honor,   neither 
yet  hast  asked  long  life,  but  hast  asked  wisdom  and  knowledge 
for  thyself;  wisdom  and  knowledge  is  granted  unto  thee." 

11.  "  This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all." 

12.  "  Thou  that  dost  scare  the  world  with  tempests  set  on  fire. 

The  heavens  with  falling  thunderbolts,  or  fill 
The  swift  dark  whirlwind  that  uproots  the  "woods, 
Where  is  the  mortal  that  forgets  not  at  the  sight 
Of  these  tremendous  tokens  of  thy  power, 
His  pride,  and  lays  his  strifes  and  follies  by." 

13.  "Take  heed,  and  beware  of    covetousness  :   for  a  man's  life  con- 
sisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of  the  things  which  he  possesseth." 

14.  Theophilus  Thistlethwaite,  the  successful  thistle  sifter,  in  sift- 
ing a  sieve  full  of  unsifted  thistles,  thrust  three  thousand  thistles  through 
the  thick  of  his  thumb  ;  now,  if  Theophilus  Thistlethwaite,  the  success- 


ful  thistle  sifter,  in  sifting  a  sieve  full  of  unsifted  thistles,  thrust  three 
thousand  thistles  through  the  thick  of  his  thumb,  see  that  thou  in  sifting 
a  sieve  full  of  unsifted  thistles,  thrust  not  three  thousand  thistles 
through  the  thick  of  thy  thumb.  Success  to  the  successful  thistle  sifter. 


15.  TWO  BOOT-BLACKS. 

A  day  or  two  ago,  during  a  lull  in  business,  two  little  boot-blacks 
one  white  and  one  black,  were  standing  at  the  corners  doing  nothing, 
when  the  white  boot-black  agreed  to  black  the  black  boot-black's 
boots.  The  black  boot-black  was  of  course  willing  to  have  his  boots 
blacked  by  his  fellow  boot-black,  and  the  boot-black  who  had  agreed 
to  black  the  black  boot-black's  boots  went  to  work. 

When  the  boot-black  had  blacked  one  of  the  black  boot-black's 
boots  till  it  shone  in  a  manner  that  would  make  any  boot-black  proud, 
this  boot-black  who  had  agreed  to  black  the  black  boot-black's  boots 
refused  to  black  the  other  boot  of  the  black  boot-black,  until  the  black 
boot-black  who  had  consented  to  have  the  white  boot-black  black  his 
boots,  should  add  five  cents  to  the  amount  the  white  boot-black  had 
made  blacking  other  men's  boots.  This  the  boot-black  whose  boot  had 
been  blacked  refused  to  do,  saying  it  was  good  enough  for  a  black  boot- 
black to  have  one  boot  blacked,  and  he  didn't  care  whether  the  boot  that 
the  boot-black  hadn't  blacked  was  blacked  or  not. 

This  made  the  boot-black  who  had  blacked  the  black  boot-black's 
boot  as  angry  as  a  boot-black  often  gets,  and  he  vented  his  black  wrath 
by  spitting  upon  the  blacked  boot  of  the  black  boot-black.  This 
roused  the  latent  passions  of  the  black  boot-black,  and  he  proceeded 
to  boot  the  white  boot  black  with  the  boot  which  the  white  boot-black 
had  blacked.  A  fight  ensued,  in  which  the  white  boot-black  who  had 
refused  to  black  the  unblacked  boot  of  the  black  boot-black,  blacked 
the  black  boot-black's  visionary  organ,  and  in  which  the  black  boot- 
black wore  all  the  blacking  off  his  blacked  boot  in  booting  the  white 
boot-black. 


15.  THE  DUEL  BETWEEN  MR.  SHOTT  AND  MR.  NOTT. 

A  duel  was  lately  fought  in  Texas  by  Alexander  Short  and  John 
S.  Nott.  Nott  was  shot,  and  Short  was  not.  In  this  case  it  is  better 
to  be  Shott  than  Nott.  There  was  a  rumor  that  Nott  was  not  shot, 
and  Shott  avows  that  he  shot  Nott,  which  proves  either  that  the  shot 
Shott  shot  at  Nott  was  not  shot,  or  that  Nott  was  shot  notwithstanding. 


2O 

Circumstantial  evidence  is  not  always  good.  It  may  be  made  to  ap- 
pear on  trial  that  the  shot  Shott  shot  shot  Nott,  or,  as  accidents  with 
fire  arms  are  frequent,  it  may  be  possible  that  the  shot  Shott  shot  shot 
Shott  himself,  when  the  whole  affair  would  resolve  itself  into  its  orig- 
inal elements,  and  Shott  would  be  shot,  and  Nott  would  not  be  shot. 
We  think,  however,  that  the  shot  Shott  shot  shot  not  Shott,  but  Nott ; 
anyway,  it  is  hard  to  tell  who  was  shot. — Harper's  Weekly. 


V.    EXERCISE. 


1.  TONGUE  TONES.     L-r— far. 

2.  NASALS,     m-n-ng. 


ELEMENTARY  DRILL  OF  THE  HAND  AND  FINGERS. 

Sheridan  says  : — "  Every  one  knows  that  with  the  hands  we  can 
demand  or  promise,  call,  dismiss,  welcome,  threaten,  supplicate, 
show  joy,  sorrow,  fear,  admiration,  respect,  and  many  other  things 
now  in  common  use." 


HAND. 


FINGERS. 


1.  PALM  or  vital  part.  i.  TnuMB-vital. 

2.  SIDE  or  mental  part.  2.  FIRST  FiNGER-indicative. 

3.  BACK  or  emotive.  3.   SECOND  AND  TuiRD-emotive. 

4.  LITTLE  FiNGER-sensitive. 


supine 

moulding 

slapping 

pointing 

flattering 

prone 

defining 

trembling 

applied 

accusing 

vertical 

affirming 

wringing 

flourishing 

caressing 

clenched 

marking 

pulling 

ennumerating 

warning 

inward 

rubbing 

pushing 

convulsions 

repulsing 

outward 

concealing 

threatening 

zigzag 

painting 

accepting 

presenting 

commanding 

meekness 

listening 

VOICE  AND  GESTURE. 


THE  ARABIC  PARABLE. 
(First  read,  then  give  in  Pantomime.) 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase!) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace. 
And  saw  within  the  moonlight  of  his  room, 
Making  it  rich  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 
An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold. 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold: 


22 

And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 

"  What  writest  thou?  "  The  vision  raised  its  head, 

And,  with  a  look  made  all  of  sweet  accord, 

Answered,  "  '  The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord,' 

'  And  is  mine  one?  '  asked  Abou.     '  Nay  not  so,' 

Replied  the  angel.     Abou  spoke  more  low, 

But  cheerly  still ;  and  said,  '  I  pray  thee,  then, 

Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow-men.' 

The  angel  wrote,  and  vanished.     The  next  night 

It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light, 

And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blest ; 

And,  lo  !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest." — Leigh  Hunt. 


ELEMENTARY  CHART. 

Practice  ten  minutes  daily  for  strength  and  clearness  of  tone,  as 
well  as  for  correct,  elegant  articulation. 

(26  letters=44  elementary  sounds.) 
LONG  SOUNDS. 


I, 

e  -  #5  «z 

—  me  —  eve  —  mete. 

2. 

a          " 

ale  —  may  —  tate. 

3- 

a         " 

air  -  pair  -  share. 

4- 

a          " 

arm  —  bar  —  father. 

5- 

a         " 

all  -  fall  —  law. 

6. 

6          " 

old  —  no  —  home. 

7- 

66        " 

ooze  —  moon  —  food. 

SHORT  SOUNDS. 

i. 

i  —  a^  ^'« 

-  it-  pit  -  live. 

2. 

e        " 

pet  -  debt  -  met. 

3- 

e         " 

err  —  verge  —  verse. 

4- 

a         " 

add—  fat—  bad. 

5- 

6        " 

on  —  odd  —  not. 

6. 

u        " 

up—  cup—  sup. 

7- 

66      " 

book  -  root  —  wood. 

DOUBLE  SOUNDS 

. 

i. 

i  -  as  in 

—  ice  —  isle  —  fly. 

2. 

oi        " 

oil  —  boy  —  joy. 

3- 

ow      " 

owl  —  row  —  cow. 

4- 

u         " 

lute  -  few  -  due. 

23 


HALF  TONES. 
i . 

2. 

3- 
4- 
5- 


b  -  as  in  -  bib  -  babe  -  bid. 


v 

6.  th  " 

7.  z  " 

8.  zh  " 


did— dead— dug. 

go— gave— gone. 

judge  -  John  -  June. 

vim-vent—value. 

thee  -  thou  —  breathe. 

zest  —  zeal  —  ooze. 

azure  -  measure  -  pleasure. 


'NASALS. 


LlNGUALS. 


1 .  m  —  as  in  -  moon  -  men. 

2.  n          "          nun  -  nine. 

3.  ng         "          king  -  sting. 

1 .  L  -  as  in  -  lull  -  bill. 

2.  r  "          rise  —  run. 

3.  r  "          far-star. 

ASPIRATE  EXPLODENTS. 

1 .  p  -  as  in  -  pipe  -  pip  -  pen. 

2.  t  "          tite  -  tot  -  tin. 

3.  k         "          kite  —  kick  -  kin. 

ASPIRATE  CONTINUANTS. 

ch  -  as  in  -  church  -  chin  -  chide. 


f 

th 
s 
sh 


6.     h 

•    7.     wh 


fife  —  fine  —  fiend, 
thin  -  think  -  thistle, 
sin  —  sun  -  see. 
shame  —  shun  -  shield, 
home  -  he  —  has. 
when  -  where  -  which. 


UNITED  SOUNDS. 


1 .  w  —  as  in  —  we  —  way  —  went. 

2.  y  "          yes— yet— yawn. 

(C-q-x—  have  no  sound  which  are  not  given  by  other  letters.  ) 

WORK. 

And  I  say  to  you  as  my  old  master  said  to  me:  "Patience, 
Perseverance,  Persistency,  Pertinacity,  Push,  and  Practice,  must 
produce  PERFECTION." 


VL    EXERCISE, 


TONELESS  SOUNDS. 

A.  Explosive.  P-t-k-ch. 

B.  Continuous,   f-th-s-sh-h-wh. 


ELEMENTARY  DRILL  OF  INFLECTIONS. 

(Practice  Inflections  for  expressive  movement  of  voice.) 
"  Feathers  float  in  the  air.     Weighty  things  fall  to  the  ground." 


i.  GIVE  THE  SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS  WITH  RISING  SLIDE. 

/     /     /      /      /     /     / 
Did  you  say  —  eel— ale— air— arm— all— old— ooze. 

RISING  INFLECTION.      (Surprise— questioning-suspended— sense.) 
i.    "  What,  is  my  mother  here  ?  " 
2.   "Must  I  observe  you?  " 

3.  She  looks  as  clear 

As  many  roses  washed  in  dew.  — Shakespeare. 

(Lively.) 

4.  'Twas  the  night  before  Christmas,  when  all  through  the  house 
Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a  mouse, 

And  mamma  in  her  kerchief,  and  I  in  my  cap, 
Had  just  settled  our  brains  for  a  long  winter's  nap, 
When  out  on  the  lawn  there  rose  such  a  clatter — 
I  sprang  from  the  bed  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

(Flattery.) 

5.  "  I  pray  thee  remember  I  have  done  thee  worthy  service;  told 
thee  no  lies,  made  no  mistakings,  served  without  grudge   or  grumb- 
lings." 


25 
2.   GIVE  THE  SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS  WITH  FALLING  SLIDE. 

\      \      \       \      \      \      \ 
Yes,  I  said — eel-ale—air—arm—all—old—ooze. 

FALLING  INFLECTION  —  carries  the  voice  down  through  a  succession 
of  tones. 

(determination-positiveness-completeiiess  of  sense.) 

i.  "  It  is  my  living  sentiment,  and,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  it  shall 
be  my  dying  sentiment,  independence  now  and  independence  for- 
ever." 

2.   Age  thou  art  shamed 

Rome  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods  ! 
When  went  there  by  an  age  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  famed  with  more  than  with  one  man. 

— Sh  a  k  esp  eare. 

3.   Heaven  and  earth  !  Let  me  not  think  on't 
Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman  !  — Hamlet. 


3.  GIVE  THE  SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS  WITH  CIRCUMFLEX  INFLECTION. 

eel— ale— a  ir-arni— all— old— ooze. 
CIRCUMFLEX  INFLECTION,     (sarcasm-scorn-irony. ) 

1.  "  And,  did  they  ask  you?  " 

2.  "  Has  the  gentleman  done? 
Has  he  completely  done?  " 

3.  For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man, 

So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men.  — Julius  Ccesar . 

/\ 
4.   "  Indeed  !  he  is  your  friend,  is  he? 

What !  has  he  assured  you  that  he  is  my  friend." 

5.   "  We  !  what  page  in  the  last  court  grammer 
made  you  a  plural  ?  " 


4.  GIVE  THE  SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS  WITH  SPECIAL  INFLECTIONS. 
EXCLAMATIONS,  CRIES,  SOBS,  SIGHS,  GROANS  AND  LAUGHTER. 


26 

EXCLAMATIONS,      (abrupt  sounds.) 

i .   A  horse  !   a  horse  !  My  kingdom  for  a  horse  !  — Richard  III. 
2.  The  foe  !  They  come  !  they  come  !  — Byron. 

3.  Up  !  comrades,  up — in  Rokebys'  halls 
Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courage  falls  !  — Scott. 


5.   CRIES.  (Joy.) 

i.   "  Long  live  the  king  !  " 
(Joy-cheers.) 

2.  "  Shout  upon  shout  rang  through  the  crowded  circus  and  soon, 
above  the  cheers,  could  be  distinguished  the  cry ;  '  Pardon,  pardon 
for  the  Jew.'  No  galleys !  no  galleys !  Life,  life  for  the  son  of 
Simon  !  " 


6.   SOBS.  (Grief.) 

i.    "  My  little  girl,  my  bonny  blue  eyed  Bess,  is  dead. 

2.    "  Then  suddenly  rang  a  sharp,  low  cry  ! 

Bess  sank  on  her  knees,  and  wildly  tossed 
Her  withered  arms  in  the  summer  sky, — 

0  Willie  !  Willie  !  My  lad  !  my  lost ! 
The  Lord  be  praised  !   after  sixty  years 

1  see  you  again !   The  tears  you  cost, 
O  Willie,  darling,  were  bitter  tears  !  " 


7.  SIGHS.  (Reflective.) 

Somehow,  Joe,  I  thought  of  the  "Ferry," 
And  the  dance  that  we  had  on  "  the  Fork  " 
Of  the  moon  that  was  quietly  sleeping 
On  the  hills,  when  the  time  came  to  go ; 
Of  the  few  baby  peaks  that  were  peeping 
From  under  their  bed-clothes  of  snow ; 

Of  that  ride that — to  me  was  the  rarest ; 

Of the  something  you  said  at  the  gate  ; 

Ah,  Joe,  then  I  wasn't  an  heiress 

To  "  the  best  paying  lead  in  the  State."  — Bret  Harte. 


27 
8.  GROANS.  (Pain,  mental  or  physical.) 

1.  "  Dead,  both  my  boys,  one  shot  in  the  sea  by  the  East,  one  shot 
in  the  West  by  the  sea." 

2.  Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still.     All  the  perfumes  of  Arabia 
will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand. — Oh  !   oh  !   oh  !  — Lady  Macbeth. 


9.  LAUGHTER. 

"  There  were  sixty  horses  in  the  field  all  metal  to  the  bone.  The 
start  was  a  picture  !  Away  we  flew  in  a  cloud — pell-mell,  helter- 
skelter,  the  fools  first  as  usual  using  themselves  up.  We  soon  passed 
them.  First  your  Kitty,  then  my  Blue-skin,  and  Craven's  colt  last. 
Then  came  the  tug  !  Kittie  skimmed  the  walls,  Blue-skin  flew  over 
the  fences,  the  colt  neck  to  neck  and  half  a  mile  to  run.  At  last,  the 
colt  balked  a  leap  and  went  wild.  Then  Kittie  and  I  had  it  all  to 
ourselves.  She  was  three  lengths  ahead  as  we  breasted  the  last  wall 
— six  feet  if  an  inch,  and  a  ditch  on  the  other  side.  Then  for  the 
first  time,  I  gave  Blue-skin  his  head.  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  Away  he 
went  like  a  thunderbolt.  Over  went  the  filly,  I  over  the  same  spot, 
leaving  Kitty  in  the  ditch,  walked  the  steeple,  eight  miles  in  thirty 
minutes,  and  scarcely  turned  a  hair." 


CADENCE. 

10.  CADENCE  : — control  of  the  cadence  is  a  distinguished  accom- 
plishment. This  is  done  by  dropping  the  voice  at  the  close  of 
the  sentence,  indicating  that  the  sense  is  finished. 

EXAMPLES. 

i.   "In  teaching  me  the  way  to  live, 
It  taught  me  how  to  die." 

2.   "  Not  a  tear  must  o'er  her  fall ; 
He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." 

3.  "I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord  ;  he  that  be- 
lieveth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live  :  and  whosoever 
liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  die."  — Bible. 


28 
CLIMAX. 

ii.   CLIMAX — (is   a    gradual    heightening    of  all    the    circumstances, 
which  we  desire  to  present  in  a  strong  light.) 

(Effect-grandeur. ) 

i.    "  Love,  transport,  madness,  anger,  scorn,  despair, 
And  all  the  passions,  all  the  soul  is  there ;  " 

2.  Yet  she  had  remembrance  enough  to  turn  her  blind  eyes  toward 
the  east  and  murmur,  in  her  terror  of  that  white  dawn  that  must  soon 
break,  the  only  prayer  that  had    ever   been   uttered   by  the    lips    no 
mother's  kiss  had  ever  touched  : — "  God  !  keep  the  day  back." 

—  Out  da. 

3.  The  murmuring  of  many  voices,  the  upturning  of    many  faces, 
the  pressing  on  of  many  footsteps  in  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  so 
that  it  swells  forward  in  a  mass,  like   one  great  heave  'of  water,  all 
flashes  away. —  Dickens. 

4.   I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips, 
Straining  upon  the  start,  The  games'  afoot : 
Follow  your  spirit,  and  upon  this  charge, 
Cry — God  for  Harry,  England,  and  Saint  George  ! 


VI L    EXERCISE, 


/\      /\  /\ 

FJIONT  SCALE  OF  VOWELS — eel-it-ale-et-at. 

/\  /\ 

BACK  SCALE  OF  VOWELS — ooze-book-old— ail-on. 


HEAD— ARM— ELBOW— SHOULDER. 

The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man." ) 


1.  Man  is  Vital  having  life  and  energy. 

2.  Man  is  Intellectual  having  thought. 

3.  Man  is  Emotive  having  affection. 


The  divisions  of  the  body  are  Head,  Torso,  Limbs.  These  are 
known  as  Mental,  Vital  and  Emotive,  and  are  sub-divided  into  parts 
also  Mental — Emotive — Vital. 

All  gestures,  movements  and  attitudes  of  the  body  and  its  several 
parts  may  be  classified  as  : — 

Vital,  expressing  energy. 
Intellectual,  expressing  thought. 
Emotive,  expressing  feeling. 


HEAD. 

1.  Forehead  is  mental. 

2.  Cheek  is  emotive. 

3.  Mouth  and  chin  is  vital. 
Head  up  and  down — expresses  assent. 

"     side  to  side — expresses  negation. 

"     thrown  back  in  pride. 

"     natural  (easily  erect)  in  calm  repose. 

"     leans  toward  object — in  sympathy— affection. 

"      leans  from  object — in  suspicion— hate-distrust. 

"     sinks  on  chest — in  humility— shame— deep  thought. 

"     lifted  toward  Heaven — in  sacred  devotion— adoration. 


3° 

ARM. 

The  divisions  of  the  arm  are  three. 

1.  The  shoulder  is  vital. 

2.  The  elbow  is  emotive. 

3.  The  wrist  is  mental. 
The  shoulder  raised — in  indignation. 

"  "         lowered — in  prostration. 

4k         advanced — in  endurance. 
"  "         thrown  back — in  pride. 

Delsarte  called  the  shoulder  "the  thermometer  of  sensibility." 


ELBOW. 


1.  Turned  out — in  conceit— audacity. 

2.  Turned  in — in  weakness-despondency. 

3.  Natural — calm  repose-modesty. 
The  elbow  may  suggest  affection  and  will. 
The  wrist  is  strong  and  guides  the  hand. 


GESTURE. 

The  ancients  attached  great  importance  to  action,  and  grace- 
ful, animated  gestures  are  just  as  necessary  and  pleasing  now  as 
they  were  in  the  days  of  antiquity.  Nature  proves  action  or  motion 
to  be  an  element  of  beauty,  the  graceful  waving  trees,  the  motion  of 
the  ever  changing  clouds,  the  rippling  water,  waving  grass,  and  motion 
of  the  birds  must  be  always  graceful. 

Gesture  addresses  itself  to  the  eye  and  is  reflected  from  the  heart. 
The  ancient  orators  were  divided  in  opinion  as  to  whether  voice  or 
gesture  possessed  the  greater  influence.  Roscius  boasted  that  he 
could  express  sentiment  "as  many  different  ways  by  his  gesture  as 
the  great  Cicero  could  by  his  voice." 

There  are  a  few  general  rules  regarding  gesture,  with  which  the 
speaker  should  be  familiar,  his  attitude  toward  his  audience,  the  direc- 
tion of  the  arm  movements — position  of  hands — arm — and  elbo~jo.  I 
have  asked  different  pupils,  at  least  ten  times  in  five  minutes,  to  please 
keep  the  hand  open.  It  is  a  glaring  fault  to  gesticulate  with  the  fist, 
unless,  indeed,  we  are  very  angry. 


31 

The  following  illustration  will  speak  for  itself  : — 
In  the  days  of  King  James  II.  of  England,  an  eminent  clergyman, 
who  was  honored  with  the  attendance  of  the  king  at  his  church,  wish- 
ing to  impress  upon  the  king's  mind  an  important  truth,  fixed  his  eye 
upon  him,  and  clenching  his  fist,  struck  upon  the  desk  with  great  force 
as  he  exclaimed,  "  There  who  dares  to  deny  that?"  "No  one," 
said  King  James  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  stands  in  reach  of  your  fist." 

Too  many  gestures  are  to  be  avoided,  as  well  as  mechanical  ones 
— Shakespeare's  advice — "  Suit  the  action  to  the  word — the  word  to 
the  action  "  is  the  soul  of  eloquence. 

(Study  Hamlet's  Advice  to  the  Players.) 


HAMLET'S  ADVICE  TO  THE  PLAYERS. 

Middle  Pitch,  Moderate  Movement,   Expulsive  Form,   Energetic 

Force. 

Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  .it  to  you,  trip- 
pingly on  the  tongue ;  but  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many  of  our  players  do, 
I  had  as  lief  the  town  crier  had  spoken  my  lines.  And  do  not  saw 
the  air  too  much  with  your  hands,  but  use  all  gently,  for  in  the  very 
torrent,  tempest,  and,  as  I  may  say,  whirlwind  of  your  passion,  you 
must  beget  a  temperance  that  will  give  it  smoothness. 

C\it  offends  me  to  the  soul  to  hear  a  robustious,  periwig-pated 
fellow  tear  a  passion  to  tatters,  to  very  rags,  to  split  the  ears  of  the 
groundlings,  who  (for  the  most  part)  are  capable  of  nothing  but  in- 
explicable dumb  shows  and  noise.  Pray  you  avoid  it. 

Be  not  too  tame  either,  but  let  your  own  discretion  be  your  tutor. 
Suit  the  action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the  action,  with  this  special 
observance,  that  you  overstep  not  the  modesty  of  nature,  for  anything 
so  overdone  is  from  the  purpose  of  playing,  whose  end  is  to  hold,  as 
it  were,  the  mirror  up  to  nature,  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature,  scorn 
her  own  image,  and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the  times  their  'form 
and  pressure. 

Now  this  overdone,  or  come  tardy  off,  though  it  may  make 
the  unskillful  laugh  cannot  but  make  the  judicious  grieve,  the  cen- 
sure of  which  one  must,  in  your  allowance,  outweigh  a  whole 
theatre  of  others.  O  there  be  players  that  I  have  seen  play,  and 
heard  others  praise,  and  that  highly — not  to  speak  it  profanely — 


32 

that  neither  having  the  accent  of  Christian  nor  the  gait  of  Chris- 
tian, pagan,  nor  man,  have  so  strutted  and  bellowed  that  I  have 
thought  some  of  nature's  journeymen  had  made  men  and  not  made 
them  well,  they  imitated  humanity  so  abominably. 

— Shakespeare. 


EXAMPLES  ILLUSTRATING  THE  NINE  ARTISTIC 
ATTITUDES. 

WEIGHT  ON  LEFT  FOOT  BACK.  WEIGHT  ON  BOTH  FEET. 
(Force  in  Repose.)  (Force  in  Hesitation.) 

1.  CALM  THOUGHT  AND  RE  VERY.  i.  FAMILIARITY. 

2.  DEFIANCE.  2.   INDECISION. 

3.  GRIEF.  3.   RESPECT. 

(old  age  or  childhood.) 

WEIGHT  ON  RIGHT  FOOT  FORWARD. 
(Force  in  Activity.) 

1.  SUSPENSE. 

2.  ANIMATION. 

3.  EXALTATION. 


CALM  THOUGHT. 

One  summers  day  when  all  was  still, 
I  rested  at  my  window  sill, 
The  busy  town  along  the  bay — 
In  pearly  mists  and  vapors  lay. 

REVERY. 

Now  as  I  mused  on  times  a  gone 
I  heard  a  voice  that  cried 

FAMILIARITY. 

"  Here's  your  nice  fresh  mackerel.     Three  for  a  quarter;  one  for 
yourself,  one  for  your  wife,  one  for  your  daughter 

INDECISION. 

"  Surely,"  said  I,  "  surely  that  is  something  at  my  window  lattice. 
Let    me  see  then  what  thereat  is,  and  this  mystery  explore, 
Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment  and  this  mystery  explore — " 


DEFIANCE 

This  attitude  expresses  force  in  antagonism. 


33 
GRIEF. 

"For  O  it  was  so  hard  to  sit  in  darkness  while  the  rest  had  light, 
to  move  to  discord  when  the  rest  had  song,  to  be  so  young  and  never 
to  have  lived.  I  bore  as  women  bear  until  one  day  soul  said  to  flesh — ' 

DEFIANCE. 

"This  I  endure  no  more;  and  with  the  word  up  rose,  tore  clay 
apart,  and  what  was  blank  before  grew  blanker  still " 

SUSPENSE. 
"  Open  the  curtain  child,  yes,  it  is  night." 

ANIMATION. 

"  O  stay,  for  I  do  love." 

EXHALTATION  AND  VEHEMENCE. 

"  At  this  critical  moment  Messala,  whirling  his  lash  with  a  prac- 
tised hand,  caught  the  Arabs  of  Ben-Hur  a  cut  simultaneously  shout- 
ing  " 

RESPECT. 

"  To  all,  to  each,  a  fair  good  night, 
Pleasing  dreams,  and  slumbers  light." 


VIIL  EXERCISE. 


TIME. 

Time  refers  to  the  rapidity  with  which  words  and  sentences  are 
given.  We  have  time  spent  on  a  sound,  time  spent  on  a  pause,  and 
Jlme  spent  on  words  and  sentences. 

Quantity  and  pauses  belong  to  the  elements  of  time.  A  change 
of  time  will  express  a  change  of  sentiment. 

The  divisions  of  time  are  : — 

QUICK,   VKRY  QUICK,  MODERATE,   SLOW,   VERY  SLOW. 


ELEMENTARY  DRILL  OF  TIME. 
(Practice  ten  minutes  daily  for  clear,  musical  tones.) 

i.  GIVE  THE   SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS  IN  ALL  THE  DIFFERENT  KINDS 
OF  TIME. 


2.  GIVE  THE  LONG  AND  SHORT  SOUNDS  WITH    SLOW    AND    QUICK 

TIME. 

3.  EXAMPLES  OF  MODERATE  TIME.      (Descriptive.) 

When  she  lifted  the  hand  with  the  flower  on  it,  1  could  think  of 
nothing  but — 

"  In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies, 
Christ  was  born  across  the  sea." — Phelps. 

(Narrative.) 
[From  "  Talk  to  the  Point."] 

Talk  to  the  point,  and  stop  when  you  reach  it.  The  faculty 
•which  some  possess  of  making  one  idea  cover  a  quire  of  paper  is 
•despicable. 

To  fill  a  volume  upon  nothing  is  a  credit  to  nobody,  though 
Chesterfield  wrote  a  very  clever  poem  upon  "Nothing."  There  are 
men  who  get  one  idea  into  their  heads,  and  but  one,  and  they  make 
the  most  of  it.  You  can  see  it  and  almost  feel  it  in  their  presence. 
On  all  occasions  it  is  produced  till  it  is  worn  as  thin  as  charity. 


35 

They  remind  you  of  a  twenty-four  pounder  discharging  at  a  hum- 
ming-bird. You  hear  a  tremendous  noise,  see  a  volume  of  smoke, 
but  you  look  in  vain  for  the  effects. 


4.   SLOW  TIME,      (pathos-tranquillity.) 

THE  RAINY  DAY. 

The  day  is  cold  and  dark  and  dreary ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary ; 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  mouldering  wall, 
But  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
And  the  day  is  dark  and  dreary. 

My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary, 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary ; 
My  thoughts  still  cling  to  the  mouldering  past, 
But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast, 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary. 

Be  still,  sad  heart !   and  cease  repining  ; 
Behind  the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining  ; 
Thy  fate  is  the  common  fate  of  all. 
Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 

Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary. — Longfellow. 


^.   VKRY  SLOW  TIME,     (deep-solemnity.) 
Hear  the  tolling  of  the  bells — 

Iron  bells  ! 

What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody  compels  ! 
In  the  silence  of  the  night, 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone ! 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats 

Is  a  groan. 

And  the  people — ah,  the  people — 
They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple, 

All  alone, 
And  who  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 

In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone, — Poe. 


36 

Her  suffering  ended  with  the  cl.-iv  : 

Yet  lived  she  at  its  close, 
And  breathed  the  long,  long  night  away, 

In  statue-like  repose, 
But  when  the  sun,  in  all  his  state, 

Illumed  the  eastern  sky, 
She  passed  through  glory's  morning  gate, 

And  walked  in  Paradise. — Aldrich. 


6.  QUICK  TIME,      (joy-gladness.) 

I  come,  I  come  !   ye  have  called  me  long  ; 

I- come  o'er  the  mountains  with  light  and  song, 

Ye  may  trace  my  steps  o'er  the  vvak'ning  earth, 

By  the  winds  which  tell  of  the  violet's  birth, 

By  the  primrose  stars  in  the  shadowy  grass, 

By  the  green  leaves  opening  as  I  pass. — Mrs.  Hemans. 


Under  his  spurning  feet,  the  road 

Like  an  arrowy  Alpine  river  flowed, 

And  the  landscape  sped  away  behind 

Like  an  ocean  flying  before  the  wind, 

And  the  steed  like  a  bark  fed  with  furnace  ire, 

Swept  on,  with  his  wild  eye  full  of  fire, 

But,  lo  !  he  is  nearing  his  heart's  desire ; 

He  is  snuffing  the  smoke  of  the  roaring  fray  ; 

With  Sheridan  only  five  miles  away. — Read. 


Hear  the  sledges  writh  the  bells  — 

Silver  bells  — 

What  a  world  of  merriment  their  melody  foretells ! 
How  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle, 

In  the  icy  air  of  night ! 
While  the  stars  that  over  sprinkle 
All  the  heavens  seem  to  twinkle 

With  a  crystalline  delight ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 

To  the  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  bells.—  Poe. 


37 
7.  VERY  QUICK  TIME.      (Ecstatic  joy-exciting  appeals-confusion. ) 

Hurrah !  off  again,  dashing  on  as  in  ire, 

Till  the  long,  flinty  pathway  is  flashing  with  fire  ! 

Ho  !  a  ditch  !   Shall  we  pause?  No  ;  the  bold  leap  we  dare, 

Like  a  swift-winged  arrow  we  rush  through  the  air  ! 

Oh,  not  all  the  pleasures  that  poets  may  praise, 

Not  the  wildering  waltz  in  the  ball-rooms'  blaze, 

Nor  the  chivalrous  joust,  nor  the  daring  race ; 

Nor  the  swift  regatta,  nor  merry  chase, 

Nor  the  sail,  high  heaving  waters  o'er, 

Nor  the  rural  dance  on  the  moonlight  shore, 

Can  the  wild  thrilling  joy  exceed, 

Of  a  fearless  leap  on  a  fiery  steed  ! — Grace  Greenwood, 


It  was  rather  the  long  leaping  of  lions  in  harness,  but  for  the 
lumbering  chariot,  it  seemed  the  four  were  flying.  And  above  the 
noises  of  the  race  there  was  but  one  voice  and  that  was  "  Ben-Hur's." 
In  the  old  Aramaic,  as  the  sheik  himself,  he  called  to  the  Arabs  : — 

"  On,  Atair  !  On,  Rigel !  What,  Antares,  dost  thou  linger  now? 
Good  horse — Oho,  Aldelbaran  !  I  hear  them  singing  in  the  tents,  sing- 
ing of  the  stars,  of  Atair,  Antares,  Rigel,  Aldelbaran,  and  victory  ! 
and  the  song  will  never  end,  Well  done  !  Home  to-morrow,  under  the 
black  tent — home.  On — on — Ha,  ha,  ha,  'tis 'done  !  Rest!" 

— Lew   Wallace. 


ELEMENTARY  DRILL  OF  QUANTITY. 


QUANTITY  OR  PROLONGATION. 

Quantity  is  decidedly  an  important  element  of  expression,  as  well 
as  one  of  the  most  beautiful.  It  refers  to  Time  spent  in  the  utter- 
ance of  a  sound.  Solemn  subjects,  prayer,  sorrow,  deep  solemnity, 
etc.,  require  it.  Quantity  is  usually  given  to  the  long  sounds,  and 
goes  hand  in  hand  with  the  effusive  form.  All  the  varieties  of  ex- 
pression may  be  produced  by  a  proper  use  of  Quantity. 

All  drawling  must  be  avoided.  Shakespeare  warns  us  against 
"  mouthing  our  words."  Those  who  partly  sing  and  partly  read  at 
the  same  time,  do  neither  well.  Caesar  once  asked  a  person  who  read 
with  so  much  "  sing-song  "  before  him,  "  Do  you  read  or  sing?  " 

Quantity  in  its  fullness  —  "  reminds  us  of  the  scent  of  a  bank  of 
violets,  fragrant  with  the  hidden  sweetness  of  the  spring." 


EXAMPLES. 

1.  "  Roll  on,  thou  dark  and  deep  blue  ocean,  roll — " 

2.  "  Oh  !  happiness,  our  being's  end  and  aim — " 

3.  Could  we  but  climb  where  Moses  stood, 

And  view  the  landscape  o'er, — 
Not  Jordan's  stream,  nor  death's  cold  flood, 
Should  fright  us  from  the  shore." 

4.   "  Blessed  is  the  so ul  that  listeneth  to  the  voice  of  the  Lord, 
and  from  his  own  lips  heareth  the  words  of  consolation." 


HEAVEN. 

This  world's  not  "all  a  fleeting  show, 

For  man's  illusion  given — " 
He  that  hath  sooth'd  a  widow's  woe, 
Or  wip'd  an  orphan's  tear,  doth  know 
There's  something  here  of  Heaven. 

And  he  that  walks  life's  thorny  way 

With  feelings  calm  and  even, 
Whose  path  is  lit,  from  day  to  day, 
By  virtue's  bright  and  steady  ray, 
Hath  somethingy<2//  of  Heaven. 

He  that  the  Christian's  course  hath  run, 

And  all  his  foes  forgiven, 
Who  measures  out  life's  little  span 
In  love  to  God,  and  love  to  man, 

On  earth  hath  tasted  Heaven. 


SHORT  QUANTITY. 

Short  quantity  and  explosive  form  are  used  in  expressing  joy, 
mirth,  light  tones,  laughter,  etc.,  and  is  "  Brisk  as  the  April  buds  in 
primrose  season." 

Busy,  curious,  thirsty  fly, 
Drink  with  me,  and  drink  as  I ; 
Freely  welcome  to  my  cup,' 
Could'st  thou  sip  and  sip  it  up? 
Make  the  most  of  life  you  may ; 
Life  is  short  and  wears  away. 


39 

Both  alike  are  mine  and  thine, 

Hastening  quick  to  their  decline  ; 

Thine's  a  summer,  mine  no  more, 

Though  repeated  to  threescore  ; 

Threescore  summers,  when  they're  gone, 

Wilt  appear  as  short  as  one. —  William  Oldys. 


4° 


IX.  EXERCISE. 


FORCE. 

Force  is  strength  or  power  applied  to  words  and  sentences,  so  as 
to  interpret  their  meaning  io  the  most  suitable  manner.  When  we 
confine  strength  or  power  to  different  parts  of  a  word  or  sound  we  call 
it  stress.  Force  imparts  brilliancy  to  our  composition.  It  has  been 
said  that  quantity  and  stress  constitute  the  soul  of  delivery.  Changes 
of  force  are  indispensable  to  variety  of  expression.  Force  requires 
that  the  words  and  sentences  which  are  the  most  important  shall  be 
made  the  most  prominent ;  the  place  and  the  amount  must  be  deter- 
mined by  the  sense.  The  scale  of  force  is  relative  not  absolute. 
The  divisions  of  force  are  :— 

GENTLE,    MODERATE,     LOUD,    IMPASSIONED,    SUSTAINED. 


ELEMENTARY  DRILL  OF  FORCE. 
(Practice  ten  minutes  daily  for  strength.) 

i.  GIVE  THE  SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS  IN  ALL  THE  DIFFERENT  KINDS 
OF  FORCE. 


2.  EXAMPLES  OF  GENTLE  FORCE,      (tenderness-pathos.) 

i .   Peace  in  the  clover-scented  air, 

And  stars  within  the  dome, 
And  underneath,  in  dim  repose,. 

A  plain  New  England  home. 
Within  a  murmur  of  low  tones 

And  sighs  from  hearts  oppressed, 
Merging  in  prayer  at  last,  that  brings 

The  balm  of  silent  rest. 

2.   Again,  all  is  still, 

On  the  side  of  the  hill 

Lies  silent  the  camp  in  the  shadow  of  night, 
The  soldiers  are  sleeping  ; 

The  sentinel  walks  in  the  moon's  silver  light, 
His  silent  watch  keeping. — Diekenga. 


41 

3.   Abide  with  me  !   fast  falls  the  even-tide  ; 

The  darkness  deepens ;  Lord,  with  me  abide  ! 

When  other  helpers  fail,  and  comforts  flee, 

Help  of  the  helpless,  oh,  abide  with  me  ! 

I  fear  no  foe,  with  Thee  at  hand  to  bless ; 

Ills  have  no  weight,  and  tears  no  bitterness  : 

Where  is  Death's  sting?  Grave  thy  victory  ! 

I  triumph  still,  if  Thou  abide  with  me ! — H.  F.  Lyte. 

3.  MODERATE  FORCE,      (conversational-descriptive.) 

Some  dreams  we  have  are  nothing  else  but  dreams, 

Unnatural  and  full  of  contradictions, 
Yet  others  of  our  most  romantic  schemes 

Are  something  more  than  fictions. — Hood, 

TRIFLING  CONVERSATION. 

Helen — What's  that  you  read  ? 

Modus — Latin,  sweet  cousin. 

Helen — 'Tis  a  naughty  tongue 
I  fear,  and  teaches  men  to  lie. 

Modus— To  lie  ! 

Helen — You  study  it.      You  call  your  cousin  sweet, 
Andjreat  her  as  you  would  a  crab.      "  As  sour 
"  'Twould  seem  you  think  her,  so  you  covet  her  ! 
"  Why,  how  the  monster  stares  and  looks  about !  " 
You  construe  Latin,  and  can't  construe  that  ? 

Modzts — I  never  studied  women. 

Helen — No  ;   nor  men. 

Else  would  you  better  know  their  ways  :   nor  read 
In  presence  of  a  lady. — Knoivles. 

4.  LOUD  FORCE,      (intensity-gladness.) 

i.   Was  ever  a  scene  so  splendid ; 

I  feel  the  breath  of  the  Minister  breeze ; 
Thank  God  that  my  exile's  ended, 

Old  scenes,  old  songs,  old  friends  again, 
The  vale  and  the  cot  I  was  born  in 

O  Ireland,  don't  you  hear  me  shout? 
I  bid  you  the  top  o'  the  morning. — Locke. 


42 

2.   I'm  with  you  once-again,  my  friends ; 

No  more  my  foot-steps  roam ; 
Where  it  begins  my  journey  ends, 

Amid  the  scenes  of  home. 
No  other  clime  has  skies  so  blue, 

Or  streams  so  broad  and  clear  ; 
And  where  are  hearts  so  warm  and  true 

As  those  that  meet  me  here? — Morris. 

(Animated  conversation.) 

Romeo — Ah,  Juliet,  if  the  measure  of  thy  joy 

Be  heaped  like  mine,  and  that  thy  skill  be  more. 
To  blazon  it,  then  sweeten  with  thy  breath 
This  neighbour  air,  and  let  rich  music's  tongue 
Unfold  the  imagined  happiness  that  both 
Receive  in  either  by  this  dear  encounter. 

Juliet. — Conceit,  more  rich  in  matter  than  in  words, 
Brags  of  his  substance,  not  of  ornament ; 
They  are  but  beggars  that  can  count  their  worth ; 
But  my  true  love  is  grown  to  such  excess, 
I  cannot  sum  up  half  my  sum  of  wealth. —  Shakespeare. 


5.  IMPASSIONKD  FORCE,      (strong  emotions.) 

i .   Oh,  I  could  play  the  woman  with  mine  eyes, 

And  braggart  with  my  tongue  !  But,  gentle  Heaven, 
Cut  short  all  intermission ;  front  to  front 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland  and  myself ; 
Within  my  sword's  length  set  him  ;  if  he  'scape, 
Heaven  forgive  him  too  ! — Macbeth. 

2.  Were  my  tongue  thunder — 

I  would  cry,  Revenge  !  Revenge  ! —  Croly. 

3.   Blow  wind  !  come  wrack  ! 

At  least  we'll  die  with  harness  on  our  back  ! — Macbeth. 

4.   But  yet  I'll  make  assurance  doubly  sure, 

And  take  a  bond  of  fate :  thou  shalt  not  live  : 
That  I  may  tell  pale-hearted  fear  it  lies, 
And  sleep  in  spite  of  thunder. — Macbeth. 


43 
6.   SUSTAINED  FORCE.      (calling-commanding.) 

i.   Rejoice,  you  men  of  Angier's,  ring  your  bells  : 

King  John,  your  king  and  England's  doth  approach, 
Open  your  gates  and  give  the  victors  way. — Shakespeare. 

2.  COMMANDING. 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league, 
Half  a  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  death 
Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"Forward,  the  Light  Brigade! 
Charge  for  the  guns  I"  he  said. 
Into  the  valley  of  death, 
Rode  the  six  hundred. —  Tennyson. 


44 


X.    EXERCISE. 


PITCH. 

Pitch  is  an  important  requisite  to  the  public  speaker,  it  refers  to 
the  raising  or  lowering  of  the  voice. 

We  change  our  pitch  when  we  change  our  sentiment,  thus  de- 
pression of  spirit  will  naturally  cause  a  relaxation  of  the  vocal  cords 
and  the  pitch  will  be  low,  while  mirth  and  gayety  of  spirit  will 
lengthen  the  vocal  cords  and  the  pitch  will  be  high. 

The  scale  of  pitch  is  relative,  not  absolute. 

The  divisions  of  pitch  are  : — 

HIGH,    VERY    HIGH,    MIDDLE,    LOW,    VERY    LOW. 


ELEMENTARY  DRILL  OF  PITCH. 
(Practice  ten  minutes  daily- for  variety  and  range  of  tones.) 

i.   GIVE    THE    SEVEN    LONG-SOUNDS    WITH    ALL   THE    DIFFERENT 
KINDS  OF  PITCH. 


2.   COUGH  OUT  THE   SEVEN   SHORT  SOUNDS  IN  MIDDLE  AND    Low 
PITCH. 


3.  PRONOUNCE  THE  FOLLOWING  WORDS  IN  HIGH  AND  Low  PITCH. 

bidding  singing  sailing  going  guiding  expecting 

hardness  darkness  giddiness  smoothness  wilderness  careless 

frosts  posts  boasts  fists  ghosts  acts 

folds  scolds  builds  scalds  childs'  enfolds 


populous     Tuesday      dubious       duty 


don't  you    subtle  stoics 


alacrity 


illume 
laconic 


tube 
drama 


musically       particularly      statistically      theoretically      homiletically 


45 
4.  MIDDLE  PITCH.  (descriptive.) 

i .   The  splendor  falls  on  castle-walls, 

And  snow'y  summits  old  in  story  : 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle-blow—set  the  wild  echoes  flying ; 

Blow,  bugle-answer,  echoes,  dying— dying— dying. 

—  Tennyson . 

2.   A  thousand  thousand  laurel  boughs  are  waving  wide  and  far, 
To  shed  out  their  triumphal  gleams  around  his  rolling  car ; 
A   thousand   haunts  of     olden  gods    have    given  their   wealth    of 

flowers, 

To  scatter  o'er  his  path  of  fame  bright  hues  in  gem-like  showers. 

—  Coronation  of  Tasso. 


5.   Low  PITCH.  (tenderness.) 

One  sweetly  solemn  thought 

Comes  to  me  o'er  and  o'er 
I'm  nearer  my  home  to-day 

Than  I  ever  have  been  before. 

Nearer  the  bound  of  life, 

Where  we  lay  our  burdens  down  ; 

Nearer  leaving  the  cross  ; 
Nearer  gaining  the  crown. 

Father  perfect  my  trust, 

Let  my  spirit  feel  in  death  .   . 

That  her  feet  are  firmly  set 

On  the  Rock  of  a  living  faith. — Phebe  Cary. 


6.   VERY  Low  PITCH.  (solemnity.) 

OH,  BREATHE  NOT  HIS  NAME. 

i .   Oh,  breathe  not  his  name !  Let  it  sleep  in  the  shade, 
Where  cold  and  unhonor'd  his  relics  are  laid ; 
Sad,  silent,  and  dark  be  the  tears  that  we  shed, 
As  the  night-dew  that  falls  on  the  grave  o'er  his  head. 


46 

But  the  night-dew  that  falls,  though  in  silence  it  weeps, 
Shall  brighten  with  verdure  the  grave  where  he  sleeps ; 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it  rolls, 
Shall  long  keep  his  memory  green  in  our  souls. 

—  Thomas  Moore. 


7.   HIGH  PITCH.  (lively-animated-earnest.) 

i .   Gayly  and  gayly  rang  the  gay  music, 

The  blithe  merry  music  of  harp  and  of  horn, 
The  mad  merry  music  that  set  us  a-dancing 

'Till  over  the  midnight  came  stealing  the  morn. 

Down  the  great  hall  went  waving  the  banners 
Waving  and  waving  their  red,  white  and  blue, 

As  the  sweet  summer  wind  came  blowing  and  blowing 
From  the  city's  great  garden  asleep  in  the  dew, 

Under  the  flags,  as  they  floated  and  floated, 

Under  the  arches  and  arches  of  flowers 
We  two  and  we  two  floated  and  floated 

Into  the  mystical  midnight  hours. — Nora  Perry. 

(Animated.) 

2.     When  you  see  a  man  in  woe, 
Walk  right  up  and  say  "  Hello !  " 
Say  "  Hello  "  and  "  How  d'  you  do  ?  " 
"  How's  the  world  a-using  you?  " 
Slap  the  fellow  on  his  back, 
Bring  your  hand  down  with  a  whack. 
Walk  right  up,  and  don't  go  slow, 
Smile  and  shake  and  say  "  Hello  !  " 

Is  he  clothed  in  rags?  Oh,  pshaw  ! 

Walk  right  up  and  say  "  Hello  !  " 

Rags  is  but  a  common  roll, 

Just  for  wrapping  up  a  soul. 

And  a  soul  is  worth  a  true 

Hale  and  hearty  "  How  d'  you  do?  " 
Don't  wait  for  the  crowd  to  go, 
But  walk  right  up  and  say  "  Hello  !" — foss. 


47 

« 

8.   VERY    HIGH  PITCH.        (gayety-intensity.) 

i .   Swinging  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges ; 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale, 
Bless  me  !   this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  rail  ! — Saxe. 

(Ecstatic  joy.) 

i.    ;i>  It  snows,"  cries  the  school  boy  ;  "hurrah  !  "  and  his  shout 

Is  ringing  through  parlor  and  hall ; 
While  swift  as  the  wing  of  a  swallow  he's  out, 

And  his  playmates  have  answered  his  call. 
It  makes  the  heart  leap  but  to  witness  their  joy  ; 

Proud  wealth  has  no  pleasure,  I  trow, 
Like  the  rapture  that  throbs  in  the  pulse  of  the  boy 
As  he  gathers  his  treasures  of  snow. — Mrs.  Hale. 


48 


XI,   EXERCISE. 


STRESS. 

Stress  produces  a  very  great  effect,  if  properly  understood,  and 
executed.  It  requires  a  cultivated  voice,  and  good  judgment  to  use  it 
in  the  most  appropriate  places  ;  it  belongs  entirely  to  force,  and  may 
be  called  force  or  strength  as  applied  to  different  parts  of  a  -word 
or  sound.  The  various  kinds  of  stress  are  : — 


1 .  RADICAL 

2.  FINAL 

3.  MEDIAN 

4.  THOROUGH 

5.  COMPOUND 

6.  INTERMITTANT 


ELEMENTARY  DRILL  OF  STRESS. 
(Practice  daily  for  flexibility.) 

i.  GIVE  THE    SEVEN    LONG    SOUNDS  WITH  THE    DIFFERENT    KINDS 
OF  STRESS. 


2.  EXAMPLES  OF  MEDIAN  STRESS.  <3>  (loudest  in  the  middle.) 
(  Pathetic-beautiful . ) 

i.  Oh  skies  be  calm,  O  winds  blow  free, 
Blow  all  my  ships  safe  home  to  me, 
But  if  Thou  send'st  some  a-wrack 
To  never  more  come  sailing  back 
Send  any,  all  that  skim  the  sea, 
But  bring  my  love  ship  home  to  me. —  Wilcox. 

2.  My  soul  to-day  is  far  away, 
Sailing  the  Vesuvian  Bay  ; 
My  winged  boat,  a  bird  afloat, 
Swims  round  the  purple  peaks  remote. — Read, 


X 


REPULSION 
This  attitude  expresses  general  aversion. 


49 
( Swelling  tones. ) 

3.   O  !   Hark  !   O  hear  !   how  thin  and  clear. 
And  thinner,  clearer  further  going. 


INTERMITTANT  STRESS.  — ^~-^-^-  (tremulous-emotional.) 

i.   Over  yonder  Missis'  sleeping  — 
No  one  tends  her  grave  like  me  ; 
Mebbe  she  would  miss  the  flowers, 
She  used  to  love  in  Tennessee. — Beers. 

(Feebleness-age. ) 
2.   Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man, 

Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door, 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span ; 

Oh  !  give  relief,  and  Heaven  will  bless  your  store. 

Thomas  Moss* 


4.  THOROUGH  STRESS.     | __|     (force  throughout.) 

(Triumph-commanding. ) 
i .  Hurrah  !  hurrah  for  Sheridan  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  for  horse  and  man  ! 

And  when  their  statues  are  placed  on  high, 

Under  the  dome  of  the  Union  sky, — 

The  American  soldiers'  Temple  of  Fame, 

There  with  the  glorious  General's  name 

Be  it  said  in  letters  both  bold  and  bright  : 

"  Here  is  the  steed  that  saved  the  day 

By  carrying  Sheridan  into  the  fight, — 

From  Winchester, — twenty  miles  away  !  " — Read. 

(Courage.) 

2.   Come  one,  come  all !   this  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I. — Scott. 


5.   RADICAL  STRESS.  |33Hr==-    (Force  on  first  part  of  a  word.) 

(Positiveness.) 

i.   Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts  ! 
Dash  him  to  pieces  ! 


5° 

2.  Now  we're  off — like  the  winds  to  the  plains  whence  they  came ; 
And  the  rapture  of  motion  is  thrilling  my  frame ; 
On,  on  speeds  my  courser,  scarce  printing  the  sod, 
Scarce  crushing  a  daisy  to  mark  where  he  trod ! 

—  Grace    Greenwood. 


6.  COMPOUND  STRESS.    [><]    (Force  applied  to  the  first  and  last  part 
of  the  word  or  sound.) 

(Sarcasm— contempt-intensity, ) 

i .  I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour, 

But  now  my  sword's  my  own —  Croly. 

2.  Thy  threats,  thy  mercies,  I  defy  ! 
And  give  thee  in  the  teeth  the  lie ! 


7.  FINAL  STRESS.    — =nHI|   (Force  given   to  the   last  part  of  the 
word.) 

(Defiance,  determination.) 

1 .  I'll  have  my  bond  ;  I  will  not  hear  thee  speak  ; 
I'll  have  my  bond ;  and  therefore  speak  no  more. 

2.  What !  threat  you  me  with  telling  of  the  king? 

3.  Can  parliament  be  so  dead  to  its  dignity  and  duty  as  to  give 
their  support  to  measures  thus  obtruded  and  forced  upon  them  ? 
Measures,  my  lords,  which  have  reduced  this  late  flourishing  em- 
pire to  scorn  and  contempt ! 


XIL    EXERCISE. 


EXAMPLES  OF  PURE  AND  IMPURE  QUALITIES. 

(Practice  qualities  for  kind  of  voice.) 

PURE  QUALITIES.  IMPURE  QUALITIES. 

1.  PURE  i.  ASPIRATE 

2.  ORATUND  2.  GUTTURAL 

3.  ORAL  3.  SEMI-ASPIRATE 

4.  FALSETTO  4.  NASAL 


PURE    QUALITY. 

i .   Pure  tone  is  a  clear,  musical  tone  with  the   resonance  in  the  back 
part  of  the  mouth. 

(Natural-conversational— pathos.) 

i .   It  was  a  stately  convent  with  its  old  and  lofty  walls, 

And  gardens  with  their  broad  green  walks,  where  soft  the  foot- 
steps fall, 

And  o'er  its  antique  dial  stones,  the  creeping  shadows  passed, 
And  all  around  the  noonday  sun  a  drowsy  radiance  cast, 
No  sound  of  busy  life  was  heard,  save  from  the  cloister  dim, 
The  tinkling  of  the  silver  bell,  or  the  sisters'  holy  hymn. 

—H,  G.  Bell. 

(Reflective.) 

2.   Let  Fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  joy, 

Bright  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot  destroy ! 

Which  come  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  and  care, 

And  bring  back  the  features  that  joy  used  to  wear. 

Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  such  memories  fill'd ! 

Like  the  vase  in  which  roses  have  once  been  distill'd ; 

You  may  break,  you  may  ruin  the  vase  if  you  will, 

But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  hang  round  it  still. — Moore, 


(Intensified  conversation.) 

Hamlet — Now,  mother;  what's  the  matter? 

Queen — Hamlet,  thou  hast  thy  father  much  offended. 

Hamlet — Mother  you  have  my  father  much  offended. 

Queen — Come,  come ;  you  answer  with  an  idle  tongue. 

Hamlet — Go,  go ;  you  question  with  a  wicked  tongue. 

Queen — Why,  how  now  Hamlet? 

Hamlet — What's  the  matter  now? 

Queen — Have  you  forgot  me? 

Hamlet — No,  by  the  rood,  not  so  :  You  are  the  queen,  your  hus- 
band's brother's  wife. 

Queen — Nay,  then  I'll  send  those  to  you  that  can  speak. 

Hamlet — Come,  come,  and  sit  you  down ;  you  shall  not  budge ; 
You  go  not,  till  I  set  you  up  a  glass  where  you  may  see  the  in- 
most part  of  you. — Shakespeare, 


2.   ORATUND.      (Pure  tone  deepened  and   enlarged,  with  the  vibration 
or  resonance  in  the  chest.) 

(Sublimity— reverence— grandeur. ) 

i .   Oh  !  Thou  eternal  One,  whose  presence  bright 

All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide ; 
Unchanged  through  Time's  all-devasting  flight — 

Thou  only  God ;  there  is  no  God  beside — 
Being  above  all  beings  ;  Mighty  One  ; 

Whom  none  can  comprehend  and  none  explore, 
Who  fill'st  existence  with  Thyself  alone, 

Embracing  all — supporting — ruling  o'er, 
Being  whom  we  call  God,  and  know  no  more. 

Oh  thoughts  ineffable  !   Oh  visions  blest ! 

Though  worthless  our  conception  all  of  Thee, 
Yet  shall  Thy  shadowed  image  fill  our  breast, 

And  waft  its  homage  to  Thy  Deity. 
God  !  thus  alone  my  lonely  thoughts  can  soar; 

Thus  seek  Thy  presence — Being,  wise,  and  good ; 
Midst  Thy  vast  works  admire,  obey,  adore ; 

And,  when  the  tongue  is  eloquent  no  more, 
The  soul  shall  speak   in  tears  of  gratitude. —  Derzhavin. 


53 

2.  He  who  aims  high  must  dread  an  easy  home  and  popular 
manners.  Heaven  sometimes  hedges  a  rare  character  about  with  ugli- 
ness and  odium,  as  the  burr  that  protects  the  fruit. 

If  there  is  any  great  and  good  thing  in  store  for  you,  it  will  not 
come  at  the  first  or  the  second  call,  nor  in  the  shape  of  fashion,  ease, 
and  city  drawing-rooms.  Popularity  is  for  dolls.  Steep  and  craggy, 
said  Porphyry,  is  the  path  of  the  gods.  Open  your  Marcus  Antoni- 
nus. In  the  opinion  of  the  ancients,  he  was  the  great  man  who 
scorned  to  shine,  and  who  contested  the  frowns  of  fortune. — Emerson. 


3.   ORAL.      (Resonance  in  the  front  part  of  the  mouth.) 
(Child- voice-feebleness-sickness.) 

i.    "  I'm  going  back  down  to  grandpa's 

I  won't  come  back  no  more, 
To  hear  the  remarks  about  my  feet 

A  muddying  up  the  floor, 
They's  too  much  said  about  my  clothes, 

The  scoldin's  never  done, 
I'm  going  back  down  to  grandpa's 

Where  a  boy  kin  have  some  fun." 

(Feebleness.) 

2.    "  No  !   no  !   I  want — nothing,  The  angels  are  beckoning  me- 
there  over  the  river." 

(Exhaustion.) 

3.   Let  me  lie  down 

Just  here  in  the  shade  of  this  cannon-torn  tree, 
Here,  low  on  the  trampled  grass,  where  I  may  see 
The  surge  of  the  combat,  and  where  I  may  hear 
The  glad  cry  of  victory,  cheer  upon  cheer : 

Let  me  lie  down. — Miller. 


4.   FALSETTO.      (A  high  tone,   above  the   natural  key,  resonance    in 
upper  part  of  mouth.) 

(Imitation.) 

i.    "  Finally  a  simple-minded  fish  contrives  to  get  itself  fastened 
on  the  hook  of  a  timid  woman  who  gives  vent  to  her  tongue — 'Oh, 


54 

something's  got  my  hook ! '     '  Pull  up  !    pull  up  ! '  shout  three  or  four 
voices — and  the  poles  are  dropped  and  the  girls  all  rush  to  the  rescue." 

2.  Mr.  Noodles — Mr.  Noodles!  I  say,  Mr.  Noodles!  Now,  if 
you  were  half  awake,  and  had  a  disposition  to  get  along  in  the  world, 
and  be  anything  or  anybody,  or  do  half  what  you  promised  to  do  when 
you  married  me,  I  should  never  be  under  the  painful  necessity  of  re- 
minding you  of  what  you  are.  Mr.  Noodles  !  I  had  plenty  of  eligible 
offers — but  you — you  Mr.  Noodles  made  so  many  lofty  promises  that 
I  just  threw  myself  away — and  here  I've  been  years  and  years,  toiling 
and  digging,  and  working  unceasingly,  to  help  make  something  or 
somebody  out  of  you — Mr.  Noodles — and  this  is  my  reward. — Hall. 


IMPURE    QUALITIES. 

5.  GUTTURAL.      (Discordant  tone,  the  resonance  in  the  lower  part  of 

the  throat.) 

(Hate— defiance-scorn. ) 

i .    "  Ho,  base  Jew  ;  work  you  in  such  guise  ! 
Hello,  my  men  !   Close  in  ;  charge  home  ! 
Strike  down  this  dog  of  an  assassin  !  " 

2.   And  if  thou  said'st  I  am  not  peer 

To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 
Lowland  or  highland,  far  or  near, 
Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied. — Scott. 

3.   The  mind  I  sway  by,  and  the  heart  I  bear, 

Shall  never  sag  with  doubt,  nor  shake  with  fear. 

— Macbeth, 

4.  If  thou  speak'st  false, 

Upon  the  next  tree  shalt  thou  hang  alive. — Macbeth, 

6.  ASPIRATE.      (Resonance  variable.) 

(Secrecy-stillness-suppressed  fear. ) 
i .   No  other  sound  or  stir  of  life  was  there 

Except  my  steps  in  solitary  clamber 
From  flight  to  flight,  from  stair  to  stair, 
From  chamber  into  chamber. 


55 

O'er  all  there  hung  the  shadow  of  a  fear, 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 

And  said,  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear, 
The  place  is  haunted  ! — Hood. 

2.   I'll  go  no  more  ; 

I  am  afraid  to  think  what  I  have  done ; — 
Look  on't  again,  I  dare  not ! — Macbeth. 

Is  this  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me, 

The  handle  toward  my  hand  ?  Come,  let  me  clutch  thee, 

I  have  thee  .not :  and  yet  I  see  thee  still  ! 

Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 

To  feeling,  as  to  sight  ?  or  art  thou  but 

A  dagger  of  the  mind,  a  false  creation 

Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain? 

I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable 

As  this  which  now  I  draw. — Macbeth. 


7.   SEMI- ASPIRATE.       (Intensifies  the    expression,    resonance   in  the 
lower  part  of  throat.) 

(Awe-amazement-or  dread.) 

i.   Still  it  cried,  "  Sleep   no   more,"   to   all  the   house, 
"  Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep  ;  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more —  Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more  !  " 

—  Shakespeare, 

2.   I  am  thy  father's  spirit, — 

Doomed  for  a  certain  time  to  walk  the  night ; 
And,  for  the  day,  confined  to  fast  in  fires, 
Till  the  foul  crimes,  done  in  my  days  of  Nature, 
Are  burned  and  purged  away. — Shakespeare. 


8.   NASAU      (Resonance  in  the  cavity  of  the  nose.) 
(Mimicry-burlesque.) 

i.   "Ethan,  who's  been  a-painting  on  that  barn?     Ethan  Ripley, 
what  have  you  been  doing?  " 


56 

"  Nawthin,'  a  man  came  along  an'  he  wanted  to  paint  that  sign 

on  there  an'  I  let  him — it's  my  barn  anyhow  an'  I  guess  I  can  do  what 

I've  a  mind  to  with  my  own  barn — " 

"  Ethan  Ripley — I  declare  I  don't  see  what  possessed  you — 

"  Wai'  he  paid  me  twenty-five  dollars  for  it — or  that  is  just  the 

same  thing — he  gave  me  twenty-five  bottles  of  the  best  family  bitters 

in  the  market." 

2.    "  The  birds  can  fly, 
An'  why  can't  1? 
Must  we  give  in," 
Says  he,  with  a  grin, 
"  That  the  bluebird  an'  phoebe 
Are  smarter 'n  we  be  ?" 


ONO  M  ATOPOETIC . 
i.   (The  drum.) 

With  a  rap,  and  a  tap,  and  a  rolling  beat, 

And  a  sound  on  the  ground  of  the  tramp  of  feet, 

Keeping  step  they  come. 

With  the  sound  of  the  drum, 

With  the  rapping  and  the  tapping  of  a  drum,  of  a  drum,  drum,  drum. 

To  the  beating  of  a  drum,  drum,  drum,  drum. — Diekenga. 

2.   (Whistles.) 
(Vibration  upper  and  back  part  of  mouth.) 

Six-five  A.  M.  there's. a  local  comes, 

Makes  up  at  Bristol,  running  east ; 
An'  the  way  her  whistle  sings  and  hums — 

Is  a  living  caution  to  man  an'  beast. 

Every  one  knows  who  Jack  White  calls — 

Little  Lou  Woodbury  down  by  the  Falls ; 

Summer  or  \vinter,  always  the  same, 

She  hears  her  lover  calling  her  name — 

"  Lou — ie — Lou — iee — Lou — iee  !  " — Burdette. 


57 
3.    (Bells.) 

"  Not  faith  alone,  but  works  as  well, 
Must  test  the  soul,"  said  a  soft  bell, 
Come  here,  and  cast  aside  your  load, 
And  work  your  way  along  the  road, 
With  faith  in  God,  and  faith  in  man, 
And  hope  in  Christ,  where  hope  began — 

"  Do  well,"  do  well,  do  well — do  well — 
Rang  out  a  clear  toned  bell. — Bung-ay. 

4.    (Bird  tones.) 

Merrily  swinging  o'er  brier  and  weed, 

Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain  side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name, — 

Whirr — Whirr — Whirr. 
Bobolink — bobolink — spink — spank — spink. 

Chee — chee — chee. 
Snug  and  safe  in  this  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers. 
C  hee — Ch  ee — C  hee . 

Whirr — whirr — whirr. 

5.    (Echo.) 

Though  rudely  blows  the  wintry  blast, 
And  sifting  snows  fall  white  and  fast, 
Mark  Haley  drives  along  the  street, 
Perched  high  upon  his  wagon-seat ; 
His  somber  face  the  storm  defies, 
And  thus  from  morn  till  eve  he  cries, 

"  Charco' !  charco' !  " 
While  echo  faint  and  far  replies, 

"Hark,  O!  hark,  O!" 

"  Charco' !  " — "  Hark,  O  !  " — Such  cheery  sounds 
Attend  him  on  his  daily  rounds. — J.  T.   Troivb  ridge. 


XIII.  EXERCISE. 


EXAMPLES   INTRODUCING   TWENTY-SIX   POSITIONS 
OF  THE  ARM. 


DECLARATION. 

I.  "  The  king  is  present." 

AFFIRMATION. 

II.  "I  tell  you  though  all  the  world  declare  it,  I  will  not  believe  it." 

NEGATION. 

III.  "  You  charge  me  that  I  have  blown  this  coal,  I  do  deny  it." 

MAINTAINING. 

IV.  "  I  will  uphold  the  truth  of  his  statement." 

CONTEMPT. 

V.  '•  Oh  !  it  is  not  worth  a  fig." 

MEDITATION. 

VI.  "  And  I  thought  on  all  the  subjects  which  the  generous  Duke 

had  named." 

ACOJJIRING. 

VII.  •'  When  suddenly  it  flashed  across  my  mind,  They  had  gone." 

THREATENING. 

VIII.  u  Thou  shalt  not  live,  That  I  may  tell  pale-hearted  fear  it  lies." 

ANIMATION. 

IX.  "  Had  I  three  ears  I'd  hear  thee." 

DETERMINATION. 

X.  "  I'll  have  my  bond,  I  will  not  hear  thee  speak." 

HOLDING. 

XI.  "  Here  I  hold  a  pilot's  thumb 

Wrecked  as  homeward  he  did  come." 

INDICATING. 

XII.  "  Like   yon    maiden    by    the   cypress    which    the    vines    are 

weeping  o'er." 


59 

REVEALING. 

XIII.  *'  But  still  this  purple  pansy  brings 

Thoughts  of  the  sweetest,  saddest  things." 

SUPPLICATING. 

XIV.  "  Oh,  do  not  turn  me  away,  I  implore." 

ACCUSATION. 

XV.  "  Your  heart  is  filled  with  arrogance,  spleen  and  pride." 

HUMILITY. 

XVI.  ''King    Robert    crossed   both    hands    upon    his   breast   and 

quickly  answered — '  Thou  knowest  best ;    my    sins   as 
scarlet  are.'  " 

BENEDICTION. 

XVII.  "May  the  blessings  of   Heaven  rest  upon  them." 

MENTAL  CONVULSION. 

XVIII.  "  I  had  most  need  of  blessing, 

But  amen  stuck  in  my  throat." 

CARESSING. 

XIX.  "  Then  the  good  steed's  rein  she  took  and  his  neck  did  kiss 

and  stroke." 

ATTACKING. 

XX.  "  Avaunt,  little  rascal,  away  with  you — fly." 

GLORIFICATION. 

XXI.  "  Make  a  joyful  noise  unto  the  Lord  all  the  earth." 

REJECTION. 

XXII.  "  Fling  away  ambition,  by  that  sin  fell  the  angels." 

ACCEPTANCE. 

XXIII.  "  Yes,  I  will  accept  the  gift." 

CALM  REPOSE. 

XXIV.  "  Whene'er  you  speak  remember  every  cause 

Stands  not  on  eloquence  but  stands  on  laws." 

EXULTATION. 

XXV.  "  Go  ring  the  bells  and  fire  the  guns, 

And  fling  the  starry  banner  out." 

GOOD    NIGHT. 

XXVI.  "  Good  night !  good  night !— as  sweet  repose  and  rest 

Come  to  thy  heart,  as  that  within  my  breast !  " 


6o 


XIV.    EXERCISE. 


ELEMENTARY  GESTURE  DRILL. 
(Practice  daily  for  freedom  of  movement.) 

A.  Hands  crossed  on  chest — head  bowed. 

B.  Right  hand  in  salutation — left  on  chest — head  raised. 

C.  Left  palm  laid  on  right. 

D.  Hands  ascending — outward. 

E.  Hands  descending — inward. 

F.  Hands  supine  ascending. 

G.  Hands  prone  descending. 
H.  Ascending  curves. 

I.  Descending  curves. 

J.  Quick  writing. 

K.  Rotary  movement — lateral. 

L.  Clap  hands  three  times  over  head. 

M.  Rolling  front — descending. 

N.  Ascending  nodes. 

O.  Descending  nodes. 

P.  Shaking  hands  three  times. 

Q.  Arms  swing  back. 

R.  Arms  swing  front. 

S*  Kneel  on  left  knee,  right  hand  vertical. 

T.  Springing  backward  hands  clasped  at  left  shoulder. 

U.  Flourishing  bow. 

V.  Fingers  clasped  at  chest — elbows  raised. 

W.  Convulsive  fingers. 

X.  Quick  writing — diagonally. 

Y.  Folded  arms. 

Z.  Bow.      (Martha  Washington.) 


6i 

DESCRIPTIVE  GESTURE  DRILL. 
(Strength  at  the  centre  gives  freedom  at  the  surface. — Delsarte.} 

1.  SUPINE    HAND. 

GIVE  THE  SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS  with  shades  of  expression  suit- 
able to  illustrate  the  SUPINE  HAND. 

SUPINE  HAND — the  hand  well  opened,  the  two  middle  fingers 
close  together.  The  palm  or  face  of  the  hand  is  very  expressive — 
used  in  AFFIRMATION,  GENERAL  STATEMENTS.  It  WELCOMES, 
ACCEPTS,  and  is  IMPULSIVE,  FRANK,  GENEROUS  in  nature. 

2.  PRONE    HAND. 

GIVE  THE  SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS  with  suitable  expression,  using 
the  PRONE  HAND  to  illustrate. 

PRONE  HAND — the  face  of  the  hand  turned  down,  used  in  SAD- 
NESS, SOLEMNITY,  it  CONCEALS,  COVERS,  BURIES,  and  is  REPRESSIVE 
in  nature. 

3.   VERTICAL    HAND. 

GIVE  THE  SEVEN  SHORT  SOUNDS  using  the  HAND  VERTICAL. 

VERTICAL  HAND — the  face  of  the  hand  is  perpendicular,  fingers 
pointing  upward,  expresses  AVERSION,  FEAR,  CALLING  ATTENTION, 
and  is  REPELLING  in  nature. 

4.  INWARD    HAND. 

GIVE  THE  DOUBLE  SOUNDS  using  the  INWARD  HAND. 
INWARD  HAND — the  hand  is  held  on  edge,  thumb  erect,  used  in 
SACREDNESS,  APPEAL  to  HEAVEN,  also  in  Demonstrative  gesture. 

5.  INDEX    FINGER. 

GIVE  THE  LINGUALS  (at  same  time  using  the  Index  Finger.) 
INDEX  FINGER — the  first  finger  straight,  hand  closed  easily,  used 
in  LOCATING,  DEFINING,  INDICATING  in  nature. 

6.   HANDS    ENCLOSED. 

GIVE  BACK  SCALE  OF  VOWELS  with  HANDS  ENCLOSED. 

HANDS  ENCLOSED — Right  hand  clinched  and  laid  in  palm  of  left 
hand,  used  in  REVERY,  DEEP  THOUGHT,  (tapping  quickly)  denotes 
IMPATIENCE. 


62 

7.  WRINGING  HANDS. 

GIVE  THE  FOUR  DOUBLE  SOUNDS  at  the  same  time  WRINGING 
the  HANDS. 

WRINGING  HANDS — used  in  DISTRESS,  PAIN,  etc. 

8.  HANDS   CROSSED. 

GIVE  FRONT  SCALE  OF  VOWELS  using  HANDS  CROSSED. 
HANDS  CROSSED — the  left  hand  crossed  over  right  on  the  chest, 
elbows  raised,  VENERATION,  HUMILITY  of  HEART. 

9.  HANDS   APPLIED. 

GIVE  THE  FOUR  DOUBLE  SOUNDS  with  the  HANDS  APPLIED. 
HANDS  APPLIED — the  palms  pressed  together,    fingers  touching, 
DEVOTION,  ADORATION. 

10.  CLENCHED    HANDS. 

GIVE  THE  SEVEN  SHORT  SOUNDS  using  the  CLENCHED  HAND. 
CLENCHED  HAND — DETERMINATION,  RAGE,  ANGER. 

11.  FINGERS  CLASPED. 

GIVE  THE  EIGHT  SUB  VOCALS  with  the  FINGERS  CLASPED. 

CLASPED  FINGERS — indicate  STRONG  EMOTION,  PLEADING  or 
SUPPLICATING. 

12.  CLASPED    HANDS. 

GIVE  THE  SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS  with  expression  (the  HANDS 
CLASPED.) 

CLASPED  HANDS — the  palm  of  the  right  hand  laid  in  palm  of 
left,  used  in  HUMILITY,  INTENSE  FEELING,  RESIGNATION. 


GOLDEN  RULES. 

1 .  Do  not  personate  description,  and  in  personation   be  careful 
only  to  stiggest  the  passion. 

2.  Do  not  use  HAND  on  HEART  to  show  the  feelings  of  others, 
only  used  with  reference  to  your  own  feelings. 

3.  Hush  or  Hark  may  be  given  with  Vertical  Hand  or  Index 
Finger. 

4.  A  gesture  without  meaning  is  a  grimace  in  Art. 


XV.    EXERCISE. 


PANTOMIMES. 


I.  You  have  just  finished  turning   the  leaves    of    an   illustrated 

copy  of  "  Dante"  and  are  standing  in — 
MEDITATION. 

II.  Your    attention    is  arrested    by   the    sounds    without,   and  you 

pause  for  a  moment — 

LISTENING. 

III.  Unable  to  recognize  these  sounds  you  go  to  your  study  window 

and  stand — 

LOOKING. 

IV.  Just  then  a  familiar  form  enters  and  you  show — 

SURPRISE. 

V.  Recognizing,  as  you  suppose,  a  friend  you  make  a — 

FORMAL  SALUTATION. 

VI.  After  which  you  extend  a  hearty — 

WELCOME. 

VII.  Receiving  no  response  other  than  an  effort  to  speak,  you  pause 

in — 

EXPECTATION. 

VIII.  Still  receiving  no  response  you  turn  away  in — 

REJECTION. 

IX.  Followed  by — 

INDIGNANT  COMMAND — "  Go  !  " 

X.  The  object  still  remains  and  you  show  extreme — 

ARROGANCE. 


64 

XI.  You  now  display  decided  feelings  of — 

ANGER. 

XII.  Further  emboldened,  you  stand  in  the  attitude  of — 

DEFIANCE. 

XIII.  The  form  changes  into  something  replusive,   causing  to  creep 

over  you  feelings  of — 

FEAR. 

XIV.  Further  transformation  develops  the  object  into  loathsomeness 

from  which  you  turn  away  in — 

HORROR. 

XV.  While  thus  your  eyes  are  turned  away  another  transformation 

has  taken  place,  The  object  has  changed  into  one  of  An- 
gelic beauty  which  you  hail  with — 
SPIRITUAL   JOY. 

XVI.  It  is  vanishing  and  you   plead   with   it   to   stay,    assuming  the 

attitude  of — 

APPEAL. 

XVII.  It  has  vanished  and  you  are  left  in  great — 

HUMILITY. 

XVIII.  You  invoke  forgiveness  for  your  treatment  of  an  Angel  un- 

awares, in  the  attitude  of  humble — 
PRAYER. 

XIX.  Your  conscience  is  relieved,  your  prayer  is  answered  and  you  . 

repose  in — 

FAITH. 

XX.  And  now  ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  trust  that  you  are  pleased 

with  our  exercises,  and  promising  you  faithful  work  in  our 
future  efforts  to  entertain  our  friends  and  the  public,  we 
bid  you — 

FAREWELL. 

Arranged  and  presented  by 

PROF.   R.  I.  FULTON. 


REFLECTION 
This  attitude  expresses  force  in  repose. 


ART 


The  birthplace  of  Art  is  in  the  Soul. 


I  wish  to  acknowledge  my  indebtedness  to  Gen.  Lew  Wallace  and 
Harper  &  Brothers  for  so  kindly  permitting  me  to  publish  "  The  Chariot 
Race"  from  "  Ben-Hur,"  and  "  Sergius  to  the  Lion"  from  the  "The 
Prince  of  India  "  ;  and  to  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.  for  "  Christine  Roche- 
fort  "  ;  to  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons  for  "  Life  for  Life  "  from  "  A  Son  of 
Issachar,"  and  "  The  Dilemma  "  from  "  Yale  Yarns,"  and  "  The  Stranded 
Ship  "  ;  to  Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  and  Jeremiah  Curtin  for  "  Quo  Vadis  "  ; 
to  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co.  for  "Going  to  the  Circus"  from  "The 
Wreck  of  the  Circus,"  and  "Laddie";  to  J.  L.  Harbour  for  "The 
Mourning  Veil,"  "William  Henry,"  "Putting  the  Baby  to  Sleep,"  "A 
Bed-Time  Classic  "  and  "  Papa  and  the  Boy  "  ;  to  J.  P.  Lippincott  Com- 
pany for  "  The  Daughter  of  the  Regiment "  ;  to  Lee  &  Shepard  for 
"  The  Auctioneer's  Gift,"  "  Then  Ag'in,"  and  "  Sunday  Thieves  "  ;  to 
"Four  O'Clock"  for  "A  Matrimonial  Venture";  to  the  Shortstory 
Publishing  Company  for  "  My  Detective  Instinct "  and  "  Meeting  of 
Royalty  "  ;  to  the  Strand  Magazine  for  "The  Little  Tin  Trumpet." 

SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 

Lawrence,  Mass. 


"  LADDIE." 

BY   AUTHOR   OF   "MISS   TOOSEY's    MISSION." 


ARRANGED  BY  SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 

Dr.  John  Carter  was  a  London  physician  who,  by  untiring  efforts, 
had  risen  in  his  profession,  until  he  enjoyed  a  most  enviable  practice  and 
reputation.  He  was  of  humble  origin,  which  fact  he  neither  concealed 
nor  obtruded  upon  people's  attention,  but  to  those  who  had  a  right  to  be 
interested  he  would  say,  "  My  family  were  poor  working  people  in 
Somersetshire,  and  I  don't  even  know  if  I  had  a  grandfather.  I  owe 
everything  to  the  good,  old  doctor  who  took  me  by  the  hand  and  whose 
talent  made  the  ladder  by  which  I  have  climbed." 

Now,  so  highly  was  Dr.  Carter  respected  that  when  he  asked  Sir 
John  Meredith  for  the  hand  of  his  daughter  Violet,  the  baronet  unhesitat- 
ingly gave  his  consent. 

The  doctor  sat  in  his  consulting  room  one  evening  with  a  recent 
"  Medical  Review  "  in  his  hand — he  had  been  engaged  to  Violet  Meredith 
two  days — and  to-night,  instead  of  reading,  he  was  dreaming  rosy  day 
dreams,  as  was  fit  and  proper  after  two  days'  wandering  in  fairy  land. 
His  reverie  was  interrupted  by  his  man  servant. 

"  Please,  sir,  there's  someone  wishes  to  see  you  ;  I  told  her  as  it  was 
too  late,  but  she  wouldn't  be  put  off  no  how,  sir." 

"What  sort  of  a  person  is  she?" 

"  She  appears  to  be  from  the  country,  sir — rather  a  countryfied, 
homely  old  body,  sir." 

"  Well,  show  her  in." 

"  Countryfied,  homely  old  body."  Somehow,  the  description 
brought  back  to  Dr.  Carter's  mind  his  mother,  whom  he  had  not  seen 
for  fifteen  years.  He  smiled  to  himself  at  the  thought,  and  even  as  he 
smiled,  the  'door  was  pushed  open  and  before  him  he  saw  (with  a  back- 
ground of  the  gas-lit  hall  and  the  respectful  servant),  his  mother. 


7° 

"  Mother  !  why  mother  !  "  He  kissed  her  furrowed  old  cheeks,  wet 
with  tears  of  unutterable  joy,  and  again  said,  "  Mother  !  why  mother  !  " 

She  was  clinging  meanwhile  to  his  arm,  sobbing  out,  "  Laddie,  my 
boy,  Laddie  " — with  her  eyes  too  dim  with  tears  to  see  his  face  clearly  or 
to  notice  how  tall  and  grand  and  handsome  her  boy  was  grown,  and  what 
a  gentleman  !  "  I  must  have  a  good  look  at  you,  Laddie,  my  boy  !  " 

And  then  her  good  angel  must  have  spread  his  soft  wing  between  the 
mother  and  son  to  keep  her  from  seeing  the  look  that  was  marring  that 
son's  face.  All  the  pleasure  was  gone  and  embarrassment  and  disquiet 
lurked  in  the  lines  of  his  face. 

"  How  did  you  come,  mother?  " 

"  By  the  train,  dear,  and  it  did  terrify  me  more  nor  a  bit  at  first,  I'll 
not  go  for  to  deny,  but,  bless  you,  I  soon  got  over  it,  and  trains  is  handy 
sort  of  things  when  you  get  used  to  'em,  Laddie." 

"Why  didn't  you  write  and  say  you  were  coming?  " 

"  Well,  well,  I  thought  as  I'd  give  you  a  surprise,  and  I  know  as 
you'd  be  worrying  about  the  journey  and  thinking  as  I'd  not  be  able  to 
manage ;  but  I'm  not  such  a  helpless  old  body  after  all,  Laddie." 

"  And  when  must  you  go  back,  mother?  " 

"  Go  back,  Laddie?     Not  till  you  get  tired  of  me,  Laddie." 

John  Carter  busied  himself  with  making  the  fire  burn  into  a  blaze, 
while  his  mother  rambled  on  describing  her  journey.  He  paid  little  heed 
to  what  she  said,  for  his  head  was  busy  trying  to  form  some  plan  for  get- 
ting himself  out  of  his  difficult  position.  He  did  not  want  to  hurt,  nor  to 
be  unkind  to  her  in  any  way ;  but  it  was  altogether  out  of  the  question 
having  her  there  to  live  with  him.  It  would  ruin  all  his  prospects  in  life, 
his  position  in  his  profession,  and  in  society ;  as  to  his  engagement,  he 
did  not  venture  even  to  allow  himself  to  think  of  Violet. 

"  Mother,  I  wish  you  had  written  to  tell  me  you  were  coming." 

"  I  knew  as  you'd  be  pleased  to  see  me,  Laddie,  come  when  I  might 
or  how  I  might." 

How  could  he  make  her  understand  and  see  the  gulf  that  lay  between 
them, — her  life  and  his?  He  talked  on  quickly  and  nervously,  telling  her, 
how  they  would  go  to-morrow  and  find  a  snug  cottage  not  far  from 
London,  with  everything  pretty  and  comfortable  that  heart  could  wish  for, 
and  how  he  would  come  to  see  her  often,  very  often,  perhaps  once  a 
week. 

"  You  would  like  it,  wouldn't  you,  mother?  " 

"  I'm  aweary,  Laddie,  too  tired  like  for  new  plans,  and  may  be, 
dearie,  too  old." 


"  You  must  go  to  bed  now,  mother.  Come,  think  no  more  of  it 
to-night ;  everything  will  look  brighter  to-morrow.  I'll  show  you  your 
bedroom." 

He  left  her  with  a  kiss.  She  stood  for  some  moments  quite  still, 
looking  at  herself  in  the  long  mirror.  "  And  so,  Laddie  is  ashamed  of 
his  old  mother,  and  it  ain't  no  wonder." 

Before  Dr.  Carter  slept  that  night  he  came  to  a  different  conclusion. 
"  Come  what  may,  I  will,  I'll  keep  my  mother  with  me,  let  people  say  or 
think  what  they  will ;  yes,  even  if  it  cost  me  Violet  herself,  as  most  likely 
it  will.  I'll  keep  my  mother  here  with  me." 

But  at  daybreak  his  mother  stood  shivering  in  the  cold  November 
morning  outside  his  door. 

"  I'll  never  be  a  shame  to  my  boy,  my  Laddie ;  God  bless  him." 

When  Dr.  Carter  found  his  mother  gone,  he  said  to  -himself  with  a 
sore  heart,  "  She  has  gone  back  to  Sunny  Brook.  She  saw  what  a 
miserable,  base-hearted  cur  of  a  son  she  had,  who  grudged  a  welcome 
and  a  shelter  to  her  who  would  have  given  her  right  hand  to  keep  my 
little  finger  from  aching.  God  forgive  me  for  wounding  the  brave  old 
heart.  I  will  go  and  bring  her  back — she  will  be  ready  to  forgive  me 
before  I  speak." 

But  she  was  not  at  Sunny  Brook.  He  searched  diligently  all  day, 
but  with  no  success,  and,  tired  and  dispirited,  he  put  the  matter  into  the 
hands  of  the  police,  who  undertook  with  great  confidence  to  find  her 
before  another  day  had  passed. 

It  was  with  a  haggard,  anxious  face  that  he  went  to  see  Violet.  "  I 
have  come  to  tell  you  about  my  mother.  I  have  deceived  you  shame- 
fully." And  then  he  told  her  of  his  mother,  describing  her  as  plainly 
and  carefully  as  he  could,  trying  to  set  aside  everything  fanciful  or 
picturesque,  and  yet  do  justice  to  the  kind,  simple,  old  heart,  trying  to 
make  Violet  see  the  difference  between  the  old  country  woman  and 
herself.  And  then  he  told  her  how  she  had  come  to  end  her  days  under 
his  roof. 

"  I  could  not  ask  you  to  live  with  her  and  so  I  have  come  to  offer 
to  release  you  from  our  engagement. 

"  It  is  too  late  to  think  of  that  for  you  asked  me  to  be  your  wife 
a  week  ago,  and  I  will  not  let  you  off.  And,  then,  I  have  no  mother 
of  my  own ;  and  it  will  be  so  nice  to  have  one,  for  she  will  like  me  for 
your  sake,  won't  she?  And  what  does  it  matter  what  she  is  like?  She  is 
your  mother  and  that  is  enough  for  me." 

"  Hate  me  then,  Violet,  for  I  was  ashamed  of  her ;  I  was  base  and 


72 

cowardly  and  untrue,  and  I  wanted  to  get  her  out  of  the  way  so  that  no 
one  should  know,  not  even  you,  and  I  hurt  and  wounded  her  who  would 
have  done  anything  for  her  '  Laddie,'  as  she  call  me,  and  she  went  away 
disappointed  and  I  can't  find  her." 

"  We  will  find  her,  never  fear,  your  mother  and  mine,  Laddie." 

Eighteen  months  passed.  The  search  for  the  mother  was  altogther 
fruitless. 

The  wedding  had  been  delayed  from  time  to  time,  for  Violet  had 
said,  "  We  will  find  her  first,  we  must  find  her,  Laddie,  and  then  we  will 
talk  of  the  wedding." 

They  had  not  given  up  the  hope  of  finding  her,  or  their  efforts  to  do 
so,  but  it  no  longer  seemed  a  reason  for  postponing  the  marriage  and  the 
wedding  day  had  been  set. 

One  morning,  a  few  days  before  the  wedding,  Dr.  Carter  was  making 
his  rounds  through  a  great  London  hospital.  He  had  been  bending  over 
an  interesting  case  in  the  accident  ward,  and  rising  to  pass  on  found  that 
he  had  dropped  from  his  coat  some  flowers  which  Violet  had  given  him. 
They  had  fallen  by  some  quick  movement  onto  the  next  bed.  An  old 
woman's  arms  were  stretched  outside  the  bed  clothes,  and  one  of  the 
hard  worked  hands  had  closed  involuntarily  upon  the  flowers. 

"  Here  they  are,  sir,"  said  the  nurse.  "  Leave  go  the  flowers, 
there's  a  good  woman,  the  gentleman  wants  them.  She's  not  been 
conscious,  sir,  since  they  brought  her  in ;  we  don't  know  her  name.  I 
fancy  she's  Scotch  for  I  heard  her  say  '  Laddie  '  several  times." 

The  words  seemed  to  catch  the  unconscious  ear,  for  the  woman 
turned  her  head  and  said,  "  Laddie,"  "  Laddie." 

"  Mother,  mother,  is  it  you?     Mother  speak  to  me  !  " 

"There  is  some  mistake,"  said  the  nurse,  "  this  is  quite  a  poor  old 
woman." 

"  Yes,  and  she  is  my  mother  !  I  will  make  arrangements  at  once 
for  her  removal  to  my  house,  if  she  can  bear  it." 

But  it  wanted  little  examination  to  tell  that  the  old  woman  was  past 
moving. 

Love  is  stronger  than  death  ;  many  waters  cannot  drown  it.  Yes, 
but  it  cannot  turn  back  those  cold  waters  of  death,  when  the  soul  has 
once  entered  them.  And  so  Dr.  Carter  found  that  with  all  his  love  and 
with  all  his  skill  he  could  only  smooth,  and  that  but  a  very  little,  the 
steep,  stony  road  down  to  Jordan. 

He  sent  for  Violet.     She   came  at  once,  and   kneeling  down   with 


73 

her  sweet  face  close  to  the  old  mother's  said,  "  Mother,  I  am  Laddie's 
sweetheart." 

"  Laddie's  sweetheart — he's  been  a  good  son  to  his  old  mother,  and 
you'll  make  him  a  good  wife,  won't  you,  dear?  God  bless  Laddie  and 
his  sweetheart." 

Then  the  weary  limbs  relaxed  into  the  utter  repose  and  stillness  of 
rest  after  labor,  for  the  night  had  come  when  no  man  can  work — the  holy 
starlit  night  of  death,  with  the  silver  streaks  of  the  great  dawn  of  the 
Resurrection  shining  in  the  east. 

They  buried  her  in  the  Sunny  Brook  church  yard,  and  the  country 
folks  talked  long  afterwards  about  the  funeral,  and  of  Dr.  Carter,  "  he  as 
used  to  be  called  Laddie,"  and  the  pretty  young  woman  who  was  known 
as  Laddie's  sweetheart. 

Wouldn't  the  dear  old  soul  have  been  proud  if  she  could  have  seen 
them  ? — but  she's  better  off  where  she  is.  There  where  there  ain't  no 
burying,  no,  nor  pride,  neither. 


74 


THE    CHARIOT   RACE. 

BY    LEW    WALLACE. 
From  "  Ben-Hur,"  copyright  1880,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


ARRANGED  BY  SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  Harper  &  Brothers,  Publishers.) 
INTRODUCTION. 

In  presenting  the  Chariot  Race  from  Ben-Hur,  by  Gen.  Lew  Wallace, 
it  is  but  justice  to  the  author  to  say  that  in  arranging  and  condensing  for 
delivery  in  the  shortest  space,  it  has  been  necessary  to  transpose  some 
portions  of  it. 

Ben-Hur,  a  Jew,  and  Messala,  a  Roman,  have  been  rivals  from  child- 
hood, Ben-Hur  having  suffered  great  injuries  at  the  hands  of  Messala  ; 
his  property  being  confiscated,  his  mother  and  sister  cast  into  prison  and 
Ben-Hur  himself  sent  to  the  galleys  for  life.  After  years  of  toil,  he  saved 
the  life  and  won  the  favor  of  Arius,  his  master,  who  adopted  him  as  his 
son.  Soon  afterwards,  Arius  died,  leaving  his  name  and  fortune  to  Ben- 
Hur,  who  then  returned  to  Judea  in  search  of  his  mother  and  sister. 

On  arriving  at  Antioch,  Ben-Hur  learned  of  the  great "  Roman  Chariot 
Race,"  which  was  about  to  take  place  and  was  the  great  event  of  the 
season,  and  also  that  Messala,  his  bitter  enemy,  was  one  of  the  principal 
contestants.  Ben-Hur  determined  to  enter  the  lists  under  the  name  of 
Arius  and  crush  the  haughty  Roman. 

For  this  purpose  he  secured  four  beautiful  Arab  steeds,  belonging  to 
Ilderim,  a  venerable  shiek  of  the  desert.  Messala  was  so  confident  of 
success  that  he  had  staked  his  whole  fortune  upon  winning  the  race. 

The  prizes  offered  were  "  100,000  "  sestertii  and  a  crown   of  laurel. 


The  great  arena  is  before  us.  The  trumpet  sounded  short  and  sharp, 
and  simultaneously  the  gate-keeper  threw  the  stalls  open.  First  came  the 
mounted  attendants  of  the  charioteers,  five  in  all,  Ben-Hur  having  rejected 


75 

the  service.  The  chalk-line  was  lowered  to  let  them  pass,  then  raised 
again. 

The  gate-keepers  called  their  men.  Instantly  the  ushers  on  the 
balcony  waved  their  hands  and  shouted  with  all  their  strength  :  "  Down  ! 
down  !  "  As  well  have  whistled  to  stay  a  storm.  Forth  from  each  stall, 
like  missiles  in  a  volley  from  so  many  great  guns,  rushed  the  six  fours ; 
and  up  the  vast  assemblage  rose,  electrified  and  irrepressible,  and  leap- 
ing upon  the  benches,  filled  the  circus  and  the  air  above  it  with  yells  and 
screams. 

The  competitors  were  now  under  full  view  from  nearly  every  part  of 
the  circus,  yet  the  race  was  not  begun ;  they  must  first  make  the  chalked 
line.  The  arena  swam  in  a  dazzle  of  light,  yet  each  driver  looked  first  for 
the  rope,  then  for  the  coveted  inner  line.  So,  all  six  aiming  at  the  same 
point  and  speeding  furiously,  a  collision  seemed  inevitable.  The  crossing 
was  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  width.  Quick  the  eye,  steady 
the  hand,  unerring  the  judgment  required. 

Look  with  me  upon  the  arena,  see  it  glistening  in  its  frame  of  dull 
gray  granite  walls  ;  see  the  chariots,  light  of  wheel,  and  ornate  as  paint 
and  burnishing  can  make  them — Messala's  rich  with  ivory  and  gold ;  see 
the  drivers,  erect  and  statuesque,  undisturbed  by  the  motion  of  the  cars, 
in  their  left  hands  the  reins,  passing  taut  from  the  four  ends  of  the  car- 
riage poles  ;  see  the  fours  chosen  for  beauty  as  well  as  for  speed ;  see 
them  in  magnificent  action,  heads  tossing,  nostrils  in  play,  now  distent, 
now  contracted — limbs  too  dainty  for  the  sand  which  they  touch  but  to 
spurn — every  muscle  of  the  rounded  bodies  instinct  with  glorious  life, 
justifying  the  world  in  taking  from  them  its  ultimate  measure  of  force. 

The  competitors  have  started  each  on  the  shortest  line  for  the  posi- 
tion next  the  wall.  The  fours  neared  the  rope  together.  Then  the 
trumpeter  blew  a  signal.  The  judges  dropped  the  rope,  and  not  an 
instant  too  soon,  for  the  hoof  of  one  of  Messala's  horses  struck  it  as  it 
fell.  Nothing  daunted,  the  Roman  shook  out  his  long  lash,  loosed  the 
reins,  leaned  forward,  and,  with  a  triumphant  shout,  took  the  wall. 

"Jove  with  us  !  Jove  with  us  !  "  yelled  the  Roman  faction,  in  a 
frenzy  of  delight. 

As  Messala  turned  in,  the  bronze  lion's  head  at  the  end  of  his  axle 
caught  the  fore-leg  of  the  Athenian's  right-hand  tracemate,  flinging  the 
brute  over  against  its  yoke-fellow.  Both  staggered,  struggled  and  lost 
their  headway.  The  thousands  held  their  breath  with  horror.  Messala 
speeds  on.  The  Corinthian  was  the  only  contestant  on  the  Athenian's 
right,  and  to  that  side  the  latter  tried  to  turn  his  broken  four;  and  then, 


76 

as  ill-fortune  would  have  it,  the  wheel  of  the  Byzantine,  who  was  next  on 
the  left,  struck  the  tail-piece  of  his  chariot,  knocking  his  feet  from  under 
him.  There  was  a  crash,  a  scream  of  rage  and  fear,  and  the  unfortunate 
Cleanthes  fell  under  the  hoofs  of  his  own  steeds.  Every  bench  upon 
which  there  was  a  Greek  was  vocal  with  execrations  and  prayers  for 
vengeance.  On  swept  the  Corinthian,  on  the  Byzantine,  on  the  Sidonian 

"A  hundred  sestertii  on  the  Jew  !  "  cried  Sanballat. 

"Taken  !  "  answered  Drusus. 

Ben-Hur  was  to  the   front,   coursing  freely  forward   along  with   the 
Roman. 

Behind  them,  in  a  group,  followed  the  Sidonian,  the  Corinthian  and 
the  Byzantine. 

The  race  was  on  ;  the  souls  of  the  racers  were  in  it ;   over  them  bent 
the  myriads. 

When  the  race  began  Ben-Hur  was  on  the  extreme  left  of  the  six. 
For  a  moment,  like  the  others,  he  was  half  blinded  by  the  light  in  the 
arena ;  yet  he  managed  to  catch  sight  of  his  antagonists  and  divine  their 
purpose.  At  Messala,  who  was  more  than  an  antagonist  to  him,  he  gave 
one  searching  look.  He  thought  he  saw  the  soul  of  the  man  as  through 
a  glass,  darkly  ;  cruel,  cunning,  desperate  ;  not  so  excited  as  determined, 
and  Ben-Hur  felt  his  own  resolution  harden  to  a  like  temper.  At  what- 
ever cost,  at  all  hazards  he  would  humble  this  enemy  !  Prize,  friends, 
wages,  honor — everything  that  can  be  thought  of  as  a  possible  interest  in 
the  race  was  lost  in  the  one  deliberate  purpose.  When  not  half  way 
across  the  arena,  he  saw  that  Messala's  rush  would,  if  there  was  no  collision 
and  the  rope  fell,  give  him  the  wall.  The  rope  fell,  and  all  the  fours  but 
Ben-Hur's  sprang  into  the  course  under  urgency  of  voice  and  lash.  Ben- 
Hur  drew  head  to  the  right,  and  darted  across  the  trails  of  his  opponents, 
swept  around  and  took  the  course  on  the  outside,  neck  and  neck  with 
Messala.  The  two  neared  the  second  goal.  Viewed  from  the  West,  was 
a  stone  wall  in  the  form  of  a  half-circle.  Making  a  successful  turn  at  this 
point  was  the  most  telling  test  of  the  charioteer.  A  hush  fell  over  all  the 
circus ;  the  rattle  and  clang  of  the  cars  plunging  after  the  tugging  steeds, 
were  distinctly  heard.  Then,  it  would  seem,  Messala  observed  Ben-Hur- 
and  for  the  first  time  recognized  him  ;  instantly  the  audacity  of  the  man 
flamed  out  in  an  astonishing  manner.  Whirling  his  lash  with  practised 
hand  he  caught  the  Arabs  of  Ben-Hur  a  cut  the  like  of  which  they  had 
never  known,  simultaneously  shouting  :  "  Down,  Eros  !  Up,  Mars  !  " 

The  cruel  blow  was  seen  in   every  quarter,  and  the  amazement  was 
universal.     Down  from  the  balcony,  as  thunder  falls,  burst  the  indignant 


77 

cry  of  the  spectators.  Forward  sprang  the  affirighted  Arabs  as  with  one 
impulse,  and  forward  leaped  the  car.  No  hand  had  ever  been  laid  upon 
them  except  in  love.  What  should  such  dainty  natures  do  under  such 
indignity  but  leap  as  from  death.  Where  got  Ben-Hur  the  large  hand 
and  mighty  grip  which  helped  him  now  so  well?  Where,  but  from  the 
oar  with  which  so  long  he  fought  the  sea  !  And  what  was  this  spring  of 
the  floor  under  his  feet  to  the  dizzy  eccentric  lurch  with  which  in  the  old 
time,  the  trembling  ship  yielded  to  the  beat  of  staggering  billows  drunk 
with  power? 

So  he  kept  his  place  and  gave  the  four  free  rein,  and  calling  to  them 
in  soothing  voice,  tried  merely  to  guide  them  round  the  dangerous  turn ; 
and  before  the  fever  of  the  people  began  to  abate  he  had  back  the 
mastery.  On  approaching  the  first  goal,  he  was  again  side  by  side  with 
Messala,  bearing  with  him  the  sympathy  and  admiration  of  every  one  not 
a  Roman. 

Three  rounds  concluded  the  race ;  still  Messala  held  the  inside  posi- 
tion ;  still  Ben-Hur  moved  with  him  side  by  side ;  still  the  other  com- 
petitors followed  as  before. 

Gradually  the  speed  had  been  quickened — gradually  the  blood  of 
the  competitors  warmed  with  the  work.  Men  and  beasts  seemed  to  know 
alike  that  the  final  crisis  was  near. 

The  interest  which  from  the  beginning  had  centered  chiefly  in  the 
struggle  between  the  Roman  and  the  Jew,  with  an  intense  sympathy  for 
the  latter,  was  fast  changing  to  anxiety  on  his  acconnt. 

"A  hundred  sestertii  on  the  Jew  !  "  cried  Sanballat.  There  was  no 
reply.  "  A  talent — or  five  talents,  or  ten;  choose  ye  !"  But  the  offer 
was  refused.  Messala  has  reached  his  utmost  speed.  See  the  reins  loose 
as  flying  ribbons,  while  Ben-Hur  throws  all  his  weight  on  the  bits.  As 
they  n eared  the  second  goal,  Ben-Hur  turned  behind  the  Roman's  car. 
The  joy  of  the  Messala  faction  reached  its  bound  ;  they  screamed,  howled 
and  tossed  their  colors ;  while  Sanballat  filled  his  tablet  with  wagers. 
Ben-Hur  was  hardly  holding  a  place  at  the  tail  of  his  enemy's  car. 

Along  the  home-stretch — sixth  round — Messala,  fearful  of  losing  his 
place,  hugged  the  stony  wall  with  perilous  clasp ;  a  foot  to  the  left,  and 
he  had  been  dashed  to  pieces.  One  ball  and  one  dolphin  remained  to 
decide  the  success  of  the  race,  and  all  the  people  drew  a  long  breath,  for 
the  beginning  of  the  end  was  at  hand. 

"  Ben-Hur  !     Ben-Hur  !  "  shouted  the  throng. 

From  the  benches  above  him  as  he  passed,  the  favor  descended  in 


78 

fierce  injunctions.     "  Speed  thee,  Jew  !     Take   the  wall  now  !     Now  or 
never  !  " 

At  the  second  goal  even  still  no  change  !  And  now,  to  make  the 
turn,  Messala  began  to  draw  in  his  left-hand  steeds.  On  the  three 
pillars,  only  six  hundred  feet  away,  were  fame,  increase  of  fortune,  pro- 
motions and  a  triumph  ineffably  sweet  by  hate,  all  in  store  for  him. 

Ben-Hur  leaned  forward  over  his  Arabs  and  gave  them  the  reins. 
Out  flew  the  many  folded  lash  in  his  hands  ;  over  the  backs  of  the  startled 
steeds  it  writhed  and  hissed,  and  hissed  and  writhed  again  and  again ; 
though  it  fell  not,  there  were  both  sting  and  menace  in  its  quick  report. 
Instantly  not  one,  but  the  four  as  one,  answered  with  a  leap  that  landed 
them  alongside  the  Roman's  car. 

At  the  moment  chosen  for  the  final  dash,  Messala  was  moving  in  a 
circle  round  the  goal.  To  pass  him,  Ben-Hur  had  to  cross  the  track  in  a 
forward  direction.  The  four  close  outside  Messala's  outer  wheel ;  Ben- 
Hur's  inner  wheel  behind  the  other's  car.  With  the  iron-shod  point  of 
his  axle  he  caught  Messala's  wheel  and  crushed  it.  There  was  a  crash 
loud  enough  to  send  a  thrill  through  the  Circus,  and  out  over  the  course 
a  spray  of  shining  white  and  yellow  flinders  flew. 

Down  on  its  right  side  toppled  the  bed  of  the  Roman's  chariot. 
There  was  a  rebound  as  of  the  axle  hitting  the  hard  earth ;  another  and 
another ;  then  the  car  went  to  pieces,  and  Messala,  entangled  in  the  reins, 
pitched  forward  headlong. 

To  increase  the  horror  the  Sidonian,  who  had  the  wall  next  behind, 
could  not  stop  or  turn  out.  Into  the  wreck  full  speed  he  drove ;  then 
over  the  Roman,  and  into  the  latter's  four,  all  mad  with  fear. 

The  Corinthian  and  Byzantine  go  on  down  the  course  after  Ben-Hur, 
who  had  not  been  an  instant  delayed.  The  people  arose,  and  leaped 
upon  the  benches  and  shouted  and  screamed.  Those  who  looked  that 
way  caught  glimpses  of  Messala,  now  under  the  trampling  of  the  fours, 
now  under  the  abandoned  cars ;  but  far  the  greater  number  followed  Ben- 
Hur  in  his  career. 

They  had  not  seen  the  cunning  touch  of  the  reins  by  which  he  had 
been  able  to  overthrow  Messala,  but  they  had  seen  the  transformation  of 
the  man,  and  themselves  felt  the  heat  and  glow  of  his  spirit,  the  heroic 
resolution,  the  maddening  energy  of  action  with  which  he  so  suddenly 
inspired  his  Arabs.  And  such  running  !  It  was  rather  the  long  leaping 
of  lions  in  harness  ;  but  for  the  lumbering  chariot,  it  seemed  the  four  were 
flying.  And  above  the  noises  of  the  race  there  was  but  one  voice,  and 
that  was  Ben-Hur's.  In  the  old  Aramaic,  as  the  shiek  himself,  he  called 


79 

to  the  Arabs  :  "  On,  Atair  !  On,  Rigel !  What,  Antares  !  dost  thou 
linger  now  !  Good  horse — Oho,  Aldebaran  !  I  hear  them  singing  in 
the  tents,  singing  of  the  stars,  of  Atair,  Antares,  Rigel,  Aldebaran,  and 
victory  !  And  the  song  will  never  end. 

"  Well  done  !  Home  to-morrow,  under  the  black  tent — home  !  On  ' 
Ha,  ha,  ha  !  The  hand  that  smote  us  is  in  the  dust.  Ours  the  glory  ! 
On  !  Ha,  ha  !  The  work  is  done—  Rest !  " 


8o 


LIFE  FOR  LIFE. 

BY    ELBRIDGE    S.    BROOKS. 
An  adaptation  from  "  A  Son  of  Issachar." 


ARRANGED  BY  SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  Publishers.) 
INTRODUCTION. 

The  incident  which  I  am  about  to  relate  is  supposed  to  have  taken 
place  in  Judea  during  the  life  of  Christ.  Judas  Iscariot,  spoken  of  as 
Judah  Bar-Simon,  has  been  arrested  as  a  conspirator  against  the  Roman 
empire  in  Judea,  and  has  been  condemned  to  fight  against  lions  in  the 
amphitheatre. 

The  conditions  are  that  if  the  lions  do  not  kill  him,  he  is  to  be  sent 
to  the  galleys  for  life.  The  hero,  Cheliel  Bar-Asha,  being  under  great 
obligations  to  Judas,  resolves  to  take  his  place.  In  order  to  do  this,  he 
obtains  an  order  to  visit  the  prisoner  from  the  Centurion  Vettius,  who  has 
charge  of  Judas,  and  then  treacherously  kills  him.  The  scene  opens  on 
the  next  morning,  in  the  amphitheatre,  which  is  crowded  with  people. 
******** 

"  One  Juda  Bar-Simon,  a  Jew.  For  plotting  treason  against  our  lord 
the  Emperor :  to  the  lions  !  If  he  shall  conquer — to  the  galleys  for 
life  !  "  It  was  the  voice  of  the  editor  or  manager  of  the  games  that  day 
in  the  circus  of  Cassarea  Phillippi. 

Already  the  games  had  been  in  progress.  There  had  been  wrestling 
and  tumbling ;  there  had  been  foot-races  and  chariot-races ;  there  had 
been  exhibitions  of  trained  beasts.  Cheers  for  the  victors  and  favorites, 
jeers  for  the  defeated.  And  now  must  come  that  tinge  of  blood  without 
which,  no  exhibition  in  circus  or  amphitheatre  was  deemed  complete. 

To  the  waiting  throng  that  filled  the  stone  benches  the  announce- 
ment was  most  welcome.  They  hoped  this  criminal,  Bar-Simon,  would 
prove  alert  and  strong,  otherwise  his  tussle  with  the  lions  would  be  but 
stupid  sport.  A  crouch,  a  spring,  a  crunching  of  human  bones,  and  all 


8i 

would  be  over.  They  wished,  rather,  for  a  show  of  skill,  a  chance  to 
watch,  to  criticise,  to  applaud.  Whether  in  the  end  man  or  lion  should 
receive  the  applause,  was  to  them  a  matter  of  small  concern. 

The  narrow  door  of  one  of  the  vaulted  cells  beneath  the  overhanging 
tiers  swung  open.  The  man  was  first  to  be  displayed. 

A  murmur  of  applause  rang  through  the  curious  throng.  "  By  Bac- 
chus !  "  said  one  to  his  neighbor ;  "  a  promising-looking  young  fellow 
this  Bar-Simon.  Here  may  yet  be  sport." 

Naked,  save  for  the  closely  fitting  cloth  that  covered  his  loins,  with  a 
netting  of  light  but  strong  stuff  thrown  across  his  left  arm,  and  with  a 
sharpened  spatha — or  short  sword — in  his  right  hand,  the  false  Bar-Simon 
stepped  into  the  amphitheatre.  His  eyes  made  the  round  of  the  crowded 
circus.  Not  a  friend  in  all  that  throng.  Only  a  mass  of  curious  faces 
waiting  to  see  him  die.  Well,  if  his  hour  indeed  had  come  they  should 
see  that  he  did  not  fear  death,  he  would  die  game.  And  with  a  look  of 
defiance  and  determination  on  his  handsome  face  he  walked  swiftly  to 
the  centre  of  the  sand-strewn  arena  and  awaited  his  foes. 

With  a  rattling,  grating  sound  the  iron  bars  that  screened  the  front 
of  another  of  those  underground  cells  were  lifted  from  above.  A 
moment's  delay  and  then  a  tawny  muzzle,  topped  with  a  thick,  black 
mane,  was  thrust  through  the  opening.  Another  moment,  and  a  great 
lion,  his  shaggy  yellow  hide  plentifully  shaded  with  black,  sprung,  with  a 
roar  of  relief  at  this  sudden  freedom,  out  toward  the  centre  of  the  ring. 
The  rattling  rise  of  another  and  yet  another  cage  door  succeeded,  and 
from  their  respective  dens  another  and  yet  another  lion  followed  the 
leader.  Bar-Asha  was  to  have  no  lack  of  work. 

The  great  cats  lay,  for  a  while,  crouched  listlessly  upon  the  sand.  Their 
eyes  roamed  about  the  circus,  curious,  wondering.  They  seemed  in  no- 
haste  to  do  more  than  crouch  and  investigate  their  surroundings. 

The  watchers  grew  impatient.  "  Ho  !  in  the  ring  there  ;  stir  them 
up  !  "  came  the  cry  from  the  benches.  But  Bar-Asha,  his  eyes  on  the 
lions,  still  stood  with  folded  arms,  immovable  as  a  statue. 

The  shout  roused  the  tawny  brutes.  Two  of  them  rose  and  stealthily 
made  the  circuit  of  the  amphitheatre,  with  lowered  heads.  Then  one, 
wheeling  quickly  about,  as  if  to  reverse  the  circuit,  came  sharply  against 
his  fellow.  There  was  an  angry  snarl,  a  deep  growl,  a  double  roar,  and 
in  an  instant  the  two  great  beasts,  rivals  perhaps  in  days  of  freedom  on 
African  sands,  grappled  in  deadly  struggle. 

Awakened  by  this  familiar  sound  of  battle,  the  third  lion — he  who- 
had  first  sprung  from  the  cages — looked  about  for  an  antagonist.  He 


82 

spied  Bar-Asha  still  standing  upright  and  immovable.  With  a  dull, 
purring  growl  he  crawled  toward  that  upright  figure,  and  crouched  for  the 
death-dealing  spring.  There  is  a  movement  in  the  statue.  The  folded 
arms  draw  quickly  apart.  The  shawl,  stripped  from  the  arm,  is  held 
loosely  in  the  hand. 

The  tawny  head  draws  slowly  back.  The  tension  of  the  legs  is 
increased.  Then — there  is  a  flash  of  yellow  in  the  air  and  the  great 
brute  launches  itself  straight  at  Bar-Asha's  head. 

The  man's  lithe,  graceful  figure  springs  aside  as  the  lion  cleaves  the 
air.  It  springs  aside,  but  hardly  out  of  range.  One  blackly-shaded  paw 
strikes  as  the  watcher  jumps,  and  down  upon  the  sand  sprawls  the  young 
Jew.  Sa ;  the  lion  turns  about.  "  Quick,  Jew,  or  he  is  on  you  !  Ha,  a 
nimble  fellow;  see,  he  is  up,  he  is  off;"  and  with  bleeding  shoulder, 
but  calm  and  defiant  still,  he  awaits  the  second  attack. 

Again  the  lion  crouches ;  again  it  launches  itself  in  air ;  again  the 
quick  young  athlete  springs  aside.  Here  is  no  second  fall.  The  wary 
eye  watches  every  motion,  the  strong  but  supple  hands  grasp  the  scarf- 
like  net  and  hold  it  far  to  the  right ;  then,  as  the  lion  touches  the  ground, 
the  scarf,  with  a  dexterous  fling,  is  thrown  about  the  great  head  and  in  an 
instant  the  whole  forepart  of  the  beast  is  all  enveloped  in  the  encircling 
net. 

Struggling,  tearing,  raging  to  free  himself  from  this  unexpected 
•encumbrance,  the  lion  for  an  instant  seems  to  forget  its  human  foe  and 
•endeavors  only  to  relieve  itself  of  the  all-entangling  net.  It  is  Bar-Asha's 
opportunity.  With  a  spring  he  is  at  the  side  of  this  tossing,  tumbling 
brute.  Quick  of  stroke  and  sure  of  aim  he  buries  the  sharp-bladed 
-spatha  deep  in  the  lion's  body.  Again  the  thrust  is  sped.  With  a  roar 
of  mingled  rage  and  pain  the  lion  frees  its  head  from  the  distracting  net 
and  snaps  savagely  at  its  foe.  And  now — "  Ye  gods  !  but  he  is  a  cool 
fellow  ! "  Bar-Asha  drives  his  short  sword  twice  again  into  the  very  vitals 
of  the  beast.  There  is  one  broken  roar,  a  last  convulsive  twitch,  a  final 
attempt  to  spring,  and  then,  the  lion  rolls  over  and,  lies  dead. 

Meanwhile  the  other  fight  has  sped  with  equal  advantage.  Neither 
rival  is  the  victor.  Both  are  spent  and  torn.  And  even  as  they  roll 
apart,  seeking  respite  for  a  second  duel  to  the  death,  Bar-Asha,  unmind- 
ful of  the  tumult  that  fills  the  crowded  tiers,  where  men  and  women  shout 
in  excitement  over  this  double  fight,  crosses  swiftly  to  the  battle-spent 
lions  who  are  not  even  aware  of  his  presence,  so  intent  are  they  upon 
their  own  great  quarrel.  Intrepid,  wary,  quick,  and  all  alert,  Bar-Asha 
falls  first  upon  one  of  the  duellists  and  then  upon  the  other.  Each 


83 

shaggy  neck  feels  the  death-thrust  of  that  merciless  steel,  and  almost 
before  the  excited  watchers  appreciate  his  act  Bar-Asha  stands  triumph- 
ant— victor  over  three  African  lions  ! 

Shout  upon  shout  ran  through  the  crowded  circus,  and  soon,  above 
the  cheers,  could  be  distinguished  the  cry,  "  Pardon,  pardon  for  the  Jew  ! 
Life  for  the  victor !  No  galleys,  no  galleys  !  Pardon  for  the  son  of 
Simon  !  " 

The  editor  of  the  games  sprang  into  the  ring.  No  need  to  fear  the 
lions  now.  Only  their  victor  lives.  The  editor  threw  a  laurel  wreath 
upon  Bar  Asha's  curly  hair.  "  Brave  fellow  !  "  he  cried,  even  his  circus- 
sated  nature  roused  to  enthusiasm.  "  The  like  I  never  saw.  Yonder  is 
the  noble  tetrarch.  Down  on  your  knees  and  sue  for  pardon  and  for 
mercy." 

With  outstretched  hands  Bar-Asha  turned  toward  the  royal  box. 
And  Philip,  the  tetrarch,  gentler  and  more  merciful  than  his  brothers  of  the 
Herod  blood,  himself  full  of  delight  over  his  triple  triumph,  cried  :  "  Well 
and  bravely  fought,  O  Jew  !  Go  free.  I  take  it  on  myself  to  set  you 
right  with  Rome." 

But,  even  as  the  victor  in  the  contest  turned  to  leave  the  scene  of 
his  marvellous  success — a  free  man  once  more — the  sound  of  clattering 
hoofs  was  heard  without,  and  through  the  entrance-way,  straight  into  the 
arena,  galloped  a  Roman  spearman. 

"  Hold  !  No  freedom  for  an  assassin  !  Tetrarch,  I  claim  a  prisoner. 
Here  is  a  trick.  Here  is  not  the  Bar-Simon  you  did  condemn  to  death. 
This  is  Bar-Asha  of  Nain.  He  has  foully  murdered  in  his  own  house  at 
Capernaum,  the  Centurion  Vettius  !  " 

Into  every  man's  life  come  moments  of  crisis  when,  for  good  or  ill, 
fate  must  be  boldly  faced  and  the  future  hazarded  upon  a  single  act. 
Such  a  moment  had  come  to  Cheliel  Bar-Asha.  Victor  m  a  crowded  and 
applauding  circus,  he  must  now  play  the  craven  or  strike  for  liberty. 

"  Back,  Roman  !  The  tetrarch  has  given  me  my  life.  I  hold  him  to 
his  pledge." 

"  Fool  !  Rome's  vengeance  doth  outweigh  a  tetrarch's  pledges. 
You  killed  a  soldier  of  the  Emperor.  Your  life  is  forfeit.  Yield  yourself 
prisoner,  or  die  even  where  you  stand." 

Bar-Asha  brandished  aloft  his  victorious  sword,  still  red  with  the 
blood  of  the  slaughtered  lions. 

"  Who  touches  hand  to  me,  dies  like  these  beasts  that  I  have  slain  ! 
Beware  !  Stand  off,  or  follow  your  captain  down  to  hell !  " 

"  Ho,  base  Jew;  work  you  in  such  guise  !     Hollo,  my  soldiers  !  "  the 


84 

spearman  called  to  those  who  followed  him.  "  Close  in ;  charge  home  I 
Strike  down  this  dog  of  an  assassin  !  " 

"  Rescue  !  "  Bar-Asha  cried,  raising  his  hands  in  appeal  to  the 
crowded  tiers  where  still  the  people  sat,  full  of  excitement  and  with 
growing  interest  in  this  unexpected  addition  to  the  day's  programme  of 
sport.  "  Rescue  for  him  whom  the  tetrarch  has  pardoned  !  " 

The  soldier  sprang  from  his  horse.  The  little  detail  of  spearmen  who 
accompanied  him  charged  through  the  entrance-way.  The  people  rose 
to  their  feet  in  a  tumult  of  protest  and  of  cheers.  But  even  as  Bar-Asha, 
bracing  himself  for  the  assault,  defiantly  stood  at  bay,  over  the  low  parapet 
that  capped  the  inner  ring,  there  leaped,  here  and  there,  in  various  parts 
of  the  amphitheatre,  certain  swarthy  men  of  the  hills — a  good  score  at 
least — and  as  they  sprang  into  the  arena  they  drew  from  beneath  their 
cloaks  the  gleaming  daggers  of  the  knifemen. 

They  surrounded  the  victor  of  the  day.  "  Rescue  for  Bar-Asha  1 
Rescue  for  the  hero  of  Gamala  !  Death  to  Rome  ! " 

"Treason!  treason!  rally  for  Rome!"  the  soldiers  cried.  But 
all  too  late.  The  deadly  weapons  of  the  rescuers  flashed  in  air.  Down 
fell  the  spearman,  dead,  beneath  those  fatal  knives.  Down,  too,  fell 
many  soldiers  of  the  Roman  band,  surprised  and  overpowered  by  that 
unlooked-for  attack.  The  whole  circus  was  in  an  uproar. 

"  Live  !  "  the  knifemen  cried  :  "  Juda  Bar-Simon  sends  you  life  for 
life  !  "  And  raising  Bar-Asha  in  their  arms,  they  dashed  with  him  away 
before  the  scattered  guard  of  the  tetrarch  had  time  to  rally  to  the  aid  of 
Rome. 


"THE  SILVER  TEAPOT." 


Four  childrerTsat  around  a  wood-fire  in  an  old-fashioned  country 
house.  The  red  embers  blazed  up  merrily  and  showed  four  flushed 
little  faces,  four  very  tangled  heads  of  hair,  eight  bright,  merry  eyes,  and 
—I  regret  extremely  to  add — eight  very  dirty  little  hands,  belonging, 
respectively,  to  Bess,  Bob,  Archie  and  Tom.  Mamma  was  away  you  may 
be  sure.  If  she  were  at  home  the  children  would  have  made  a  very 
different  appearance. 

The  round  table  was  wheeled  in  front  of  the  fire  and  the  student- 
lamp  shed  its  light  on  Tom's  letter  which  he  was  writing  to  his  mother. 

Archie  was  leaning  back  in  the  large  chair ;  his  arm,  which  he  had 
broken  in  riding  the  trick-mule  of  the  circus  the  day  before,  was  in  a 
splint,  but,  judging  from  the  rapid  disappearance  of  the  gingerbread  on 
the  plate  near  him,  it  is  to  be  doubted  if  trick-mules  or  broken  arms  seri- 
ously impair  the  appetite. 

"Bess,  stop  jogging  the  table  !  How  on  earth  can  a  fellow  write 
with  you  around?  " 

"  Read  what  you've  written,"  said  Bess. 

"  Yes,  do,"  chimed  in  Archie. 

"  Wait  till  it's  done,"  answered  Tom.  Writing  a  letter  was  no  joke 
for  Thomas  Bradley,  junior. 

"  How  on  earth  do  you  spell  circus  ?  " 

"  S-u-r-k-e-s-s,"  answered  Bess  promptly. 

"  No  you  don't,"  cried  Tom,  "  I  know  better." 

"  If  you  know  so  much,  why  do  you  ask,"  retorted  Bess. 

"  Oh,  come  Bess  !  do  think,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  There's  a  c  in  it,"  put  in  Archie  ;  "  for  I  saw  the  big  red  and  blue 
posters  in  the  village  and  I  know  there  was  a  c  in  circus." 

"Then  it's  c-i-r-k-i-s,"  said  Bess. 

"  Yes  ;  I  guess  that's  right.  No,  I  don't  believe  it  is  right.  See  here,  Bob  ! 
you're  a  first-rate  little  boy — a  real,  regular  first-rate  good  boy,  you  are." 

"  If  it's  upstairs,  I  won't,"  declared  Bob,  who  knew  that  flattery 
always  preceded  errands. 


86 

"  Oh,  yes,  Bobby  !  You  know  where  my  dictionary  is,  up  in  my 
room,  on  the  table.  Run  along  and  get  it, — that's  a  good  boy." 

"Go  yourself!" 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  tired.  Come,  Bob,  I'll  tell  mamma  what  a  good  boy 
you  are,  if  you  will." 

"Won't  you  tell  her  I  dropped  the  teapot  down  the  well?" 

"Oh,  did  you?  "  cried  Tom,  Bess  and  Archie,  all  in  a  breath.' 

"Which  one?" 

"  The  big  silver  one,"  said  Bob. 

"  How?     Why?     What  were  you  doing  with  it?  " 

"  The  gardner  wouldn't  lend  me  the  watering-pot,  and  I  wanted  to 
water  my  garden.  I  went  to  fill  it  at  the  well,  and  the  bucket  hit  it  right 
over  into  the  well.  It  was  the  bucket's  fault.  I  ain't  to  blame.  If  you 
won't  tell  mamma,  I'll  go  for  your  book." 

"  Well,  I  won't  tell  her  in  this  letter,  any  way." 

"Don't  tell  her  at  all." 

"  If  you  don't  go  right  off  and  get  it,  I'll  write  it  this  moment." 

"  I'll  go,  I'll  go  !  "  cried  Bobby. 

"  That's  the  worst  scrape  yet.  If  Archie  did  break  his  arm,  he's 
got  it  mended  now ;  but  the  teapot !  That's  dropped  down  the  well,  and 
there  it  is." 

After  a  while  Tom's  letter  was  finished,  and  ran  as  follows  : 

"  Dear  Mamma  :  I  wish  you  was  home.  We  have  dun  a  good 
menny  bad  things.  Bess  got  lost  in  the  woods,  and  most  drowned  in 
Rainy  Pond.  I  shot  Kate  thru  the  head  with  a  squirt  of  water,  and  most 
killed  her.  Archie  broke  his  arm  trying  to  wride  the  trick-mule  at  the 
curkis.  Bob  has  dun  worst  of  all,  but  I  said  I  wouldn't  tel  that.  Bob 
has  dun  a  dredful  thing ;  but  I  sed  I  woodn't  tel,  so  I  won't.  It's  orful. 
Papa  is  very  good  to  us,  and  don't  make  us  wash  too  much.  The  bred  is 
orful ;  Maggy  is  cross.  But  we're  all  well,  except  Archy's  arm,  and  Dr. 
Jarvis  says  if  he  don't  get  fever  he  will  get  well. 

"  Your  loving  son, 

"TOM." 

"P.  S.     You  will  feel  orful  bad  about  what  Bob's  dun." 
The  next  morning  all  four  children  were  gathered  around  the  well, 
at  the  bottom  of  which  lay  the  silver  teapot. 

"  I  see  it,  I  see  it '  "  cried  Tom,  eagerly.     "  It's  down  at  the  bottom." 
"  Did  you  suppose  it  would  float?"  said  Bess. 
"  Let  me  see,"  cried  Bob. 


87 

Meanwhile  Bess  had  gone  to  the  house  for  a  long  fishing-pole,  and 
soon  returned,  carrying  it. 

"  We'll  fasten  a  hook  to  the  end  of  it  and  fish  the  teapot  up,"  said  she. 

"Ho,  ho  !     Do  you  suppose  it  will  bite  like  a  fish?  "  laughed  Tom. 

"  No,  I  do  not,  Tom  Bradley.  But  I  suppose  if  I  tie  a  string  to  the 
pole,  and  fasten  an  iron  hook  to  one  end,  we  can  draw  it  up.  " 

"  There's  something  in  that,  Bess.     Let  me  try." 

Before  half  an  hour  had  passed,  the  four  children,  all  armed  with 
fishing-poles,  were  intently  digging  their  elbows  into  each  other's  sides,  in 
their  frantic  attempts  to  get  the  teapot. 

Every  few  minutes  Tom  would  pull  Bess  back  by  her  sunbonnet,  and 
save  her  from  tumbling  over  in  her  eagerness. 

"  Stop  jerking  my  head  so  !  "  she  cried. 

"  You'll  be  in,  in  a  minute ;  you'd  have  been  in  then,  if  I  hadn't 
jerked  you,"  said  Tom. 

"  Well,  what  if  I  had  ?  Let  me  alone.  If  I  go  in,  that's  my  own 
lookout." 

"  Your  own  look  in,  you  mean.  My  gracious !  Wouldn't  you 
astonish  the  toads  down  there  !  But  you'd  get  your  face  clean." 

"  Now,  Tom,  you  let  me  be.     I  most  had  it  that  time." 

"  So  you've  said  forty  times.  This  is  all  humbug.  I'm  going  down 
on  the  rope  for  it." 

"  Oh,  no,  Tom  ;  please  don't.  Indeed  you'll  be  drowned  ;  the  rope 
will  break;  you'll  kill  yourself;  you'll  catch  cold,"  cried  Bess,  in  alarm. 

"  Pooh  !  girl  !  coward  !  "  retorted  thankless  Tom.  "Who's  afraid  of 
that?  Stand  back,  small  boys,  I'm  going  in." 

"  It  will  be  so  cold." 

"  I'll  scream  for  a  hundred  years,  without  stopping,  Tom,"  cried 
Bess,  wildly.  "  You  shan't  go  down — you  shan't ;  I'll  call  some  one. 
Murray  !  Peter  !  Maggie  !  C-o-o-o-o-o-o-me  !  O-o-o-o-h,  c-o-o-ome  !  " 

"  Stop  screaming  and  help.  Now,  do  you  three  hold  on  tight  to 
this  bucket ;  don't  let  go  for  a  moment ;  pull  away  as  hard  as  you  can 
when  I  tell  you  to.  Now  for  it." 

And,  without  more  ado,  Tom  clung  to  the  other  rope  with  his  hands, 
and  twisted  his  feet  around  the  bucket-handle. 

"  Hold  on  tight,  and  let  me  down  easy,"  said  Tom  ;  and  the  three 
children  lowered  him  little  by  little. 

A  sudden  splash  and  shiver  told  them  he  had  reached  water,  and  a 
shout  of  triumph  declared  that  the  teapot  was  rescued. 


88 

As  Tom  shouted,  all  the  children  let  go  the  rope  and  rushed  to  the 
side  of  the  well  to  look  at  the  victorious  hero. 

It  was  a  most  fortunate  circumstance  that  the  water  in  the  well  was 
low.  As  it  was,  he  stood  in  the  cold  water  up  so  his  shoulders. 

"  What  made  you  let  go?  "  roared  Tom. 

"Oh,  Tom,  have  you  got  it?  Have  you,  really?  Ain't  it  cold? 
Are  you  hurt?  Were  you  scared?  Is  the  teapot  broken?  " 

"  Draw  me  up  !     Why  don't  you  draw  me  up?  " 

But  all  the  united  efforts  could  not  raise  Tom. 

"  I'll  run  next  door  and  call  Mr.  Wilson,"  said  Bess,  hopefully,  and 
started. 

As  Bess  ran,  she  was  suddenly  stopped  at  the  gate  by  the  sight  of  a 
carriage  which  had  just  driven  up,  and  out  of  which  now  stepped  Aunt 
Maria  and  Aunt  Maria's  husband,  Uncle  Daniel.  These  were  the  very 
grimmest  and  grandest  of  all  the  relations. 

For  one  awful  moment  Bess  stood  stunned.  Then  her  anxiety  for 
Tom  overcame  every  other  consideration,  and  before  Aunt  Maria  could 
say,  "How  do  you  do,  Elizabeth?"  she  had  caught  her  uncle  by  his 
august  coat-tail,  and,  in  a  piteous  voice,  besought  him  to  come  and  pull 
on  the  rope. 

"Pull  on  a  rope,  Elizabeth?"  said  Uncle  Daniel,  who  was  a  very 
slow  man ;  "  why  should  I  pull  on  a  rope,  my  dear?  " 

"Oh,  come  quick  !  hurry  faster  !     Tom's  down  in  the  well  !  " 

"  Tom  down  in  a  well !     How  did  he  get  there?  " 

"  He  went  down  for  the  teapot,"  sobbed  Bess;  "the  silver  teapot, 
and  we  can't  pull  him  up  again.  Oh,  do  hurry  !  " 

Uncle  Daniel  leisurely  looked  down  at  Tom.  Then  he  slowly  took 
off  his  coat,  took  hold  of  the  rope,  gave  a  long,  strong,  calm  pull,  and  in 
an  instant  Tom,  "  Dripping  with  coolness,  arose  from  the  well." 

— ANON. 


89 


THE  BOSTON  VENDER'S  CALL. 

(Suggestive  of  the  different  calls  heard  upon  the  streets  of  Boston.) 


WRITTEN  FOR  SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 


One  summer's  day  when  all  was  still 

I  rested  at  my  window  sill : 
The  busy  town  along  the  bay 

In  pearly  mists  and  vapors  lay. 

Now  as  I  mused  on  times  agone, 

I  heard  a  voice  that  floated  on 
The  balmy  air,  in  tones  so  sweet 

I  thought  that  e'en  upon  the  street 
The  calls  of  him  who  vends  his  wares 

The  music  of  his  soul  declares. 
The  cadence  rose  and  fell  betimes 

As  if  'twas  caught  from  distant  chimes ; 
"  Images,  images,  buy  images." 

Then  to  my  listening  ear  was  borne, 

Like  battle  trumpets  signal  tone, 
The  vigorous,  Celtic  voice  of  him, 

Old  Ireland's  son  with  Irish  vim. 
"  Charcoal,  charcoal,  charcoal." 

Italia's  dreamy  notes  again 
Receding  from  the  vender  came, 

And  joined  the  voice  of  charcoal  man, 
Which  came  as  from  a  shouting  clan. 

Though  far  away  Italia's  cry, 
The  charcoal  vender's  call  was  nigh. 

"  Charcoal — images, — charcoal — images." 


9o 

Off  on  the  water's  placid  breast, 

I  heard  the  sailors  join  with  zest, 
And  o'er  the  bay  there  rose  and  fell 

As  if  upon  the  ocean's  swell, 
It  floated  like  a  sea-born  thing 

That  sped  it's  course  with  fluttering  wing, 
The  song  of  the  gallant  sailor  boy. 

"  Now  heave  ahoy,  and  heave  ahoy." 

Upon  my  ear  unwarned  smote 

A  fisher's  horn  with  blatant  note, 

And  then  a  cry,  both  loud  and  shrill. 
"Fresh  mackerel,  fresh  mackerel. " 

The  little  boys  with  laughter  still 

Piped  mocking  forth,  "Fresh  mackerel.'* 

Then  answered  he  a  housewife's  voice, 

Who  asked  if  they  were  very  choice. 
"  Oh,  yes,  marm,  or  I'll  be  foresworn." 

"  Aye,"  cried  a  rival  "  in  a  horn," 
Who  approached  and  dealt  out  fish 

To  all  who  proffered  pan  or  dish. 
The  fisher  blew  his  horn  aloud, 

To  drown  the  laughter  of  the  crowd. 
As  off  he  drove,  the  rival  still 

Announced  in  verse,  "  Fresh  mackerel  ! 
Here's  your  nice  fresh  mackerel. 

Three  for  a  quarter, 
One  for  yourself,  one  for  your  wife, 

One  for  your  daughter." 

Now  every  sound  that  forms  a  part 
Of  vender's  call,  or  vender's  art. 

Came  madly  forth  repose  to  rend 

In  shout  or  song,  "  Wash  tubs  to  mend  ! 

To  mend,  to  mend,  to  mend." 

"  Matches,  matches,  matches." 

"  Olcf Ta^s,  lx>ots  Imd  b77ttles7"^" 

^^TnoMTuyfobTdnkTb,  buy  lob." 


91 

"  Here's  the  Journal,  Herald,  Globe  and  Post, 
Evening  Traveler,  Transcript,  Times. 

Have  Herald.     Have  Herald,  Sir? 
All  about  the  murder  !  " 


Hark  to  the  clang  and  solemn  knells, 

The  warning  note  of  deep-toned  bells  ! 
Bells,  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells/ bells,  bells. 

And  with  the  clang  from  lofty  spire, 
Are  mingled  cries  of  "  Fire  !  fire  !  fire  !  " 

Along  the  street  with  rush  and  rattle, 
Like  troops  and  cannon  on  to  battle, 

Bold  firemen  with  their  engines  speed  ; 
Impetuous  urge  the  foaming  steed. 

Ah,  would  the  muses  could  inspire 

My  verse  with  charm  of  Orpheus'  Lyre, 
That  I  these  brave  men's  deeds  might  sing, 

Who  to  the  fiery  altars  bring 
Their  hopes,  their  lives,  at  duty's  call, 

And  threatening  flames  that  oft  appall. 
The  foremost  hearts  they  bold  defy, 

With  strength  imparted  from  on  high. 
They  go  to  conquer,  while  there  swells 

The  signal  note  of  'larum  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells. 

The  scene  is  changed  to  peaceful  rest, 

And  quiet  soothes  my  troubled  breast. 

The  mellow  notes  of  music  rise, 

And  mingle  with  the  zephyr's  sighs, 

As  once  again,  my  ear  to  please, 
Italia's  son  calls,  "Images, 

Images,  images,  buy  images." 


Q2 


HOW  THE  LADIES  USUALLY  FISH. 


There  are  generally  three  or  four  of  them  in  a  bunch  with  light  dresses 
on.  They  have  two  or  three  poles  with  as  many  hooks  and  lines  among  them. 

When  they  get  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  they  look  around  for  a  good 
place  to  get  down,  and  the  most  venturesome  one  sticks  her  boot-heels  in 
the  bank  and  takes  two  careful  steps  down,  and  then  suddenly  finds 
herself  at  the  bottom  with  arms  in  the  water,  and  a  feeling  as  though  every- 
body in  the  wide  world  was  looking  at  her  and  she  never  tells  anybody 
how  she  got  there. 

The  other  girls,  profiting  by  her  example,  turn  around  and  go  down 
the  bank  on  their  hands  and  toes  backwards.  When  they  arrive  at  the 
bottom  they  scamper  along  until  they  come  to  a  good  shallow  place  where 
they  can  see  the  fish  and  they  shout : —  "  Oh  !  my,  I  see  one  !  " 

"Where?"     "There!" 

"  Oh  !  my,  so  it  is."     "  Let's  catch  him."     "  Who's  got  the  bait?  " 

"  Why,  you  lazy  thing,  you're  sitting  on  my  pole." 

All  these  exclamations  are  gotten  off  in  a  tone  that  awakens  every 
echo  within  a  half-mile  and  sends  every  fish  within  a  square  acre  into 
"  galloping  hysterics." 

By  superhuman  exertions  the  girls  manage  to  get  a  worm  on  the 
hook,  and  then  they  throw  it  in  with  a  splash  like  the  launching  of  a  wash- 
tub.  When  a  silver  fin  comes  along  and  nibbles  at  the  bait,  they  pull  it 
up  with  a  jerk  that  had  an  unfortunate  fish  weighing  less  than  ten  pounds 
been  on  the  pole  it  would  have  been  landed  eight  or  ten  miles  away. 

Finally,  a  simple-minded  fish  contrives  to  get  itself  fastened  on  the 
hook  of  a  timid  woman  who  gives  vent  to  her  tongue. 

"  Oh,  something's  got  my  hook  !  " 

"  Pull  up,  pull  up,  you  little  idiot,"  shout  three  or  four  voices  as 
poles  are  dropped,  and  they  all  rush  to  the  rescue. 

The  girl  with  the  bite  gives  a  spasmodic  jerk  that  sends  that  fish  into 
the  air  the  full  length  of  twenty-five  feet  of  line,  and  it  comes  down  on  the 
nearest  curly-head  with  a  damp  flop,  that  sets  her  to  clawing  as  though 
"  bumble  bees  "  were  in  her  hair. 

"  Oh,  murder  !  take  it  away,  Oh,  the  nasty  thing  !  " 


93 

Then  the  girls  pick  up  their  skirts  and  gather  around  that  fish  as  he 
skips  over  the  stones,  one  all  the  time  holding  the  line  with  both  hands, 
her  foot  on  the  pole  as  though  she  had  an  evil  disposed  goat  at  the  other 
end. 

"  Pick  it  up,"  says  a  girl  who  backs  rapidly  out  of  the  circle. 

"  Good  gracious,  I'm  afraid  of  it !  There,  see,  it's  opening  it's 
mouth  at  me  !  " 

Then  the  fish  manages  to  free  himself  from  the  hook  and  disappears 
in  the  water,  and  the  girls  try  for  another  bite. 

But  the  sun  comes  down  and  fires  the  backs  of  their  necks,  and  they 
get  two  or  three  headaches  in  the  party,  and  they  all  get  cross  and  scold 
like  so  many  magpies.  Finally,  they  get  mad  all  over,  and  throw  away 
their  poles.  Then  they  hunt  up  their  lunch-baskets,  and  climb  up  into 
the  woods,  where  they  sit  around  on  the  grass  and  caterpillars,  and  eat 
enough  dried  beef  and  hard  boiled  eggs  to  give  any  animal  the  nightmare. 

Then  they  compare  notes  about  their  different  gentlemen,  till  sun- 
down, when  they  go  home  and  plant  envy  in  the  hearts  of  all  their 
friends,  by  telling  them  "just  what  a  splendid  time  they  have  had." 

— ANON. 


94 


THE   DAUGHTER   OF   THE    REGIMENT. 


ARRANGED  BY  SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 


(By  permission  of  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 
INTRODUCTION. 

Cigarette  was  a  vivandiere  in  the  Army  of  Africa.  She  was  pretty, 
she  was  mischievous,  she  could  fire  galloping.  She  was  a  true  child  of 
Paris  and  yet  she  was  not  wholly  unsexed,  for  she  had  the  delicious 
fragrance  of  youth  and  a  certain  feminine  grace,  although  she  had  been 
born  in  a  barrack  and  meant  to  die  in  a  battle.  She  was  the  pet  of  the 
Army  of  Africa,  and  the  soldiers  had  been  her  books,  her  teachers,  her 
models,  all  the  days  of  her  life.  She  had  no  guiding  star  except  the 
eagles  on  the  standards,  and  she  worshipped  but  two  deities, — Glory  and 
France. 

She  had  never  loved  anybody,  until  her  wild  generous  heart  turned 
toward  a  strange  Chasseur,  who  was  known  in  the  regiment  as  Louis  Victor. 

He  was  a  silent  man,  of  mien  and  manners  which  bespoke  nobility  of 
race  and  character,  who  always  treated  her  with  gentle  courtesy,  but 
seemed  to  forget  her  existence  when  she  passed  from  his  sight.  He  was 
a  splendid  soldier,  and  would  have  held  some  distinguished  rank,  but  for 
the  tyrannical  hatred  of  his  colonel,  known  as  the  "  Black  Hawk,"  who 
missed  no  opportunity  of  insulting  and  worrying  the  man  who  could  not 
even  reply. 

At  last  the  cruelty  and  malignity  of  the  "Black  Hawk"  reached 
such  a  pitch  that  Louis  Victor,  meeting  him  alone  as  man  to  man,  struck 
him,  and  thus  'brought  upon  himself  the  inevitable  military  sentence  of 
death. 

The  day  before  the  execution,  which  was  to  take  place  at  the  next 
dawn,  was  well  advanced  when  a  swift  pigeon  brought  Cigarette  news  of 
his  impending  fate.  And  the  sun  was  already  declined  from  his  noon 


95 

when  she  rode  out  of  Algiers,  to  seek  the  headquarters  of  the  Marshal  o  f 
France  and  Viceroy  of  Africa,  fifty  miles  away. 


The  horse  was  reeking  with  smoke  and  foam,  and  the  blood  was 
coursing  from  his  flanks,  as  she  reached  her  destination  at  last,  and 
threw  herself  off  his  saddle  as  he  sank  faint  and  quivering  to  the  ground. 
The  soldiers  clustered  eagerly  around  her  beneath  the  gates,  and  over  the 
fallen  beast,  a  thousand  questions  pouring  from  their  curious  tongues. 

Cigarette  looked  at  them  a  moment,  then  loosened  her  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  and  held  it  out  to  an  adjutant. 

"  Take  that  to  the  man  who  gave  it  me.  Tell  him  Cigarette  waits ; 
and  with  each  moment  that  she  waits  a  soldier's  life  is  lost.  Go  !  " 

A  few  minutes  and  she  was  summoned  to  the  marshal's  presence. 
The  marshal  turned  to  her  with  a  smile  in  his  keen,  stern  eyes. 

"  You,  my  girl !  What  brings  you  here?  "  He  started  as  he  saw  the 
change  upon  her  features. 

"  Monseigneur,  I  have  come  from  Algiers  since  noon —  " 

"  From  Algiers  !  " 

"  Since  noon,  to  rescue  a  life — the  life  of  a  great  soldier,  of  a  guilt- 
less man.  He  who  saved  the  honor  of  France  at  Zaraila  is  to  die  the 
death  of  a  mutineer  at  dawn." 

"  What ! — your  Chasseur?  " 

"  Mine  ! — since  he  is  a  soldier  of  France  ;  yours,  too,  by  that  title.  I 
am  come  here  from  Algiers,  to  speak  the  truth  in  his  name,  and  to  save 
him  for  his  own  honor  and  the  honor  of  my  Empire.  See  here  !  At 
noon,  I  have  this  paper,  sent  by  a  swift  pigeon — read  it !  You  see  how 
he  is  to  die,  and  why.  Well,  by  my  Cross,  by  my  Flag,  by  my  France,  I 
swear  that  not  a  hair  of  his  head  shall  be  touched,  not  a  drop  of  his  blood 
shall  be  shed  !  " 

"  You  speak  madly.  The  offense  merits  the  chastisement.  I  shall 
not  attempt  to  interfere." 

"  Hear  me,  at  least !  You  do  not  know  what  this  man  is — how  he 
has  had  to  endure  ;  I  do.  I  have  watched  him  ;  I  have  seen  the  brutal 
tyranny  of  his  chief,  who  hated  him  because  the  soldiers  loved  him.  I 
have  seen  him  so  tried,  that  I  told  him — I,  who  love  my  army  better  than 
any  living  thing  under  the  sun — that  I  would  forgive  him  if  he  forgot 
duty  and  dealt  with  his  tyrant  as  man  to  man." 

"It  is  useless  to  argue  with  me,  I  never  change  a  sentence." 

"But  I  say  that  you  shall  /     You  are   a  great  chief;  you  are  as  a 


96 

monarch  here ;  you  hold  the  gifts  and  the  grandeur  of  the  Empire  ;  but 
because  of  that — because  you  are  as  France  in  my  eyes — I  swear,  by  the 
name  of  France,  that  you  shall  see  justice  done  to  him ;  after  death,  if 
you  cannot  in  life.  Do  you  know  who  he  is — this  man  whom  his  comrades 
will  shoot  down  at  sunrise?  " 

"  He  is  a  rebellious  soldier ;  it  is  sufficient." 

"  He  is  not !  He  is  a  man  who  vindicated  a  woman's  honor ;  he  is 
a  hero  who  has  never  been  greater  than  he  will  be  great  in  his  last  hour. 
Read  that !  What  you  refuse  to  justice,  courage,  and  guiltlessness,  you  will 
grant,  may  be,  to  your  Order." 

The  marshal  glanced  his  eye  on  the  pages  carelessly  and  coldly. 
As  he  saw  the  words  he  started,  and  read  on  with  wondering  eagerness. 

"  I  hereby  affirm  that  the  person  serving  in  the  Chasseurs  d'Afrique 
under  the  name  of  Louis  Victor  is  my  elder  brother,  Bertie  Cecil,  lawfully, 
by  inheritance,  the  Viscount  Royallieu,  Peer  of  England.  I  hereby  also 
acknowledge  that  I  have  succeeded  to  and  borne  the  title  illegally,  under 
the  supposition  of  his  death. 

"  (Signed)  BERKELEY  CECIL." 

"  How  came  this  in  your  hands?  " 

"Thus  :  the  day  that  you  gave  me  the  cross,  I  saw  the  Princess 
Carona.  From  her  I  learned  that  he  whom  we  call  Louis  Victor  was  of 
her  rank,  was  of  old  friendship  with  her  house,  was  exiled  and  nameless, 
but  for  some  reason  unknown  to  her.  She  needed  to  see  him  ;  to  bid 
him  farewell,  so  she  said.  I  sent  him  to  her.  He  went  to  her  tent ; 
alone,  at  night ;  that  was,  of  course,  whence  he  came  when  the  colonel 
met  him.  I  doubt  not  the  "Black  Hawk  "  had  some  foul  thing  to  hint 
of  his  visit,  and  that  the  blow  was  struck  for  her — for  her  !  Well,  in  the 
streets  of  Algiers  I  saw  a  man  with  a  face  like  his  own ;  different,  but  the 
same  race,  look  you.  I  spoke  to  him.  I  taxed  him.  When  he  found 
that  he  of  whom  I  spoke  was  under  sentence  of  death,  he  grew  mad ;  he 
cried  out  that  he  was  his  brother,  and  had  murdered  him — that  it  was  for 
his  sake  that  the  cruelty  of  this  exile  had  been  borne.  Then  I  bade  him 
write  down  that  paper,  since  these  English  names  were  unknown  to  me, 
and  I  brought  it  hither  to  you  that  you  might  see  under  his  hand  and 
with  your  own  eyes  that  I  have  uttered  the  truth.  And  now  is  that  man 
to  be  shot  down  like  a  mad  beast  whom  you  fear?  Is  that  death  the 
reward  France  will  give  for  Zaraila?  " 

The  marshal  swung  around  with  a  rapid  sign  to  a  staff  officer. 

"  Pens  and  ink  !  instantly  !  My  brave  child,  what  can  we  say  to 
you?  I  will  send  an  aid  to  arrest  the  execution  of  the  sentence.  It 


97 

must  be  deferred  till  we  know  the  whole  truth  of  this ;  if  it  be  as  it  looks 
now,  he  shall  be  saved  if  the  Empire  can  save  him  !" 

He  turned  and  wrote  his  hurried  order.  Cigarette  caught  it  from 
his  hand.  "  To  me  !  to  me  !  no  other  will  go  so  fast  !  Ah  !  I  wish  I 
had  let  them  tell  me  of  God,  that  I  might  ask  Him  now  to  bless  you  I 
Quick,  quick  !  Lend  me  your  swiftest  horse,  one  that  will  not  tire. 
And  send  a  second  order  by  your  aid  ;  the  Arabs  may  kill  me  as  I  go, 
and  then  they  will  not  know  !  " 

He  stooped  and  touched  her  little  brown,  feverish  hand  with 
reverence. 

"  My  child,  Africa  has  shown  me  much  heroism,  but  none  like  yours. 
If  you  fall,  he  shall  be  safe,  and  France  will  know  how  to  avenge  its 
darling's  loss." 

"  Ah,  France  !  France  !  " 

Then,  vaulting  into  the  saddle,  she  rode  once  more  at  full  speed,  out 
into  the  pitiless  blaze  of  the  sun,  out  to  the  wasted  desolation  of  the 
plains.  And  she  rode  at  full  speed  through  the  night,  as  she  had  done 
through  the  day,  her  eyes  glancing  all  around  in  the  keen  instinct  of  a 
trooper,  her  hand  always  on  the  butt  of  her  belt  pistol.  For  she  knew 
well  what  the  danger  was  of  these  lonely,  unguarded,  untraveled  leagues. 
Hour  on  hour,  league  on  league,  passed  away.  She  felt  the  animal  quiver 
under  the  spur ;  she  did  not  spare  herself;  she  was  giving  her  life. 

At  last  her  gaze,  straining  through  the  darkness,  caught  sight  in  the 
distance  of  some  yet  darker  thing,  moving  rapidly — a  large  cloud  skim- 
ming the  earth,  and  recognized  "  A  band  of  Arabs." 

She  looked  at  their  advancing  band  one  moment,  then  turned  her 
horse's  head  and  rode  straight  toward  them. 

"  They  will  kill  me,  but  they  may  save  him.  Any  other  way  he 
is  lost." 

So  she  rode  directly  toward  them ;  rode  so  that  she  crossed  their 
front,  and  placed  herself  in  their  path.  They  gave  the  shrill  wild  war- 
shout  of  their  tribe,  and  the  whole  masS  of  gaunt,  dark,  mounted  figures, 
with  their  weapons  whirling  round  their  heads,  inclosed  her. 

"  I  surrender.  I  have  heard  that  you  have  sworn  by  your  God  and 
your  Prophet  to  tear  me  limb  from  limb  because  that  I — a  child,  and  a 
woman-child — brought  you  to  shame  and  to  grief  on  the  field  of  Zaraila. 
Well,  I  am  here ;  do  it.  But  you  are  bold  men,  and  the  bold  are  never 
mean  ;  therefore  I  will  ask  one  thing  of  you.  There  is  a  man  yonder,  in 
my  camp,  condemned  to  death  with  the  dawn.  He  is  innocent.  I  have 
ridden  from  Algiers  to-day  with  the  order  of  his  release.  If  it  is  not  there 


98 

by  sunrise  he  will  be  shot;  and  he  is  guiltless  as  a  child  unborn.  My 
horse  is  worn  out ;  he  could  not  go  another  half  league.  Take  the  paper 
that  frees  him ;  send  your  fleetest  and  surest  with  it,  under  a  flag  of  truce 
into  our  camp  ;  let  him  tell  them  that  I,  Cigarette,  gave  it  him — he 
must  say  no  word  of  what  you  have  done  to  me,  or  his  white  flag  will  not 
protect  him  from  the  vengeance  of  my  army.  Answer  me  !  Is  the  com- 
pact fair?  Ride  on  with  this  paper  southward,  and  then  kill  me  with 
what  torments  you  choose." 

A  silence  fell  o'er  the  clamorous  herd — the  silence  of  respect  and  of 
amaze.  The  young  chief  listened  gravely. 

"  Who  is  this  Frank  for  whom  you  do  this  thing?  " 

"  He  is  the  warrior  to  whom  you  offered  life  on  the  field  of  Zaraila 
because  his  courage  was  as  the  courage  of  the  gods." 

"  And  for  what  does  he  perish?  " 

"  Because  he  forgot  for  once  that  he  was  a  slave  ;  and  because  he 
has  borne  the  burden  of  a  guilt  that  was  not  his  own.  Cut  me  in  ten 
thousand  pieces  with  your  swords,  but  save  him,  as  you  are  brave  men,  as 
you  are  generous  foes  !  " 

"  Maiden,  we  are  Arabs,  but  we  are  not  brutes.  We  swore  to  avenge 
ourselves  on  an  enemy ;  we  are  not  vile  enough  to  accept  a  martyrdom. 
Take  my  horse — he  is  the  swiftest  of  my  troop — and  go  you  on  your 
errand  ;  you  are  safe  from  me." 

"  Oh  !  do  not  play  with  me,  for  Pity's  sake  make  haste  and  kill  me 
so  that  this  paper  only  may  reach  him." 

The  young  chief  lifted  her  up,  up  on  the  saddle  of  his  charger.  "  Go 
in  peace.  It  is  not  with  such  as  thee  that  we  war." 

Then,  and  then  only,  as  she  felt  the  fresh  reins  placed  in  her  hand, 
and  saw  the  ruthless  horde  around  her  fall  back  and  leave  her  free,  did 
she  understand  his  meaning,  did  she  comprehend  that  he  gave  her  back 
both  liberty  and  life,  and,  with  the  surrender  of  the  horse,  the  noblest  and 
most  precious  gift  that  the  Arab  ever  bestows  or  ever  receives.  The  un- 
utterable joy  seemed  to  blind  her,  and  gleam  upon  her  face  like  the 
blazing  light  of  noon,  as  she  turned  her  burning  eyes  full  on  him. 

"  Ah  !  now  I  believe  that  thine  Allah  rules  thee,  equally  with  the  Christ- 
tian !  If  I  live,  thou  shalt  see  me  back  ere  another  night ;  if  I  die, 
France  will  know  how  to  thank  thee." 

Then,  borne  by  the  fleetness  of  the  desert-bred  beast,  she  went  away 
through  the  heavy  dullness  of  the  night.  Her  brain  had  no  sense,  her 
hands  had  no  feeling,  her  eyes  had  no  sight ;  the  rushing  as  of  waters  was 
loud  on  her  ears,  the  giddiness  of  fasting  and  of  fatigue  sent  the  gloom 


99 

eddying  round  and  round  like  a  whirlpool  of  shadow,  yet  she  had  remem- 
brance enough  to  strain  her  blind  eyes  toward  the  east  and  murmur,  in 
her  terror  of  that  white  dawn,  that  must  soon  break,  the  only  prayer  that 
had  ever  been  uttered  by  the  lips  no  mother's  kiss  had  ever  touched  : 
"  O  God !  keep  the  day  back  !  " 


There  was  a  line  of  light  in  the  eastern  sky.     The  camp  was  very 
still.     He  stood  tranquil  beside  the  coffin  within  which  his  broken  limb 
and  shot-pierced  corpse  would  so  soon  be  laid  forever.     There   was  a 
deep  sadness  on  his  face,  but  it  was  perfectly  serene.     He  raised    his 
hand  and  gave  the  signal  for  his  own  death-shot. 

The  leveled  carbines  covered  him  ;  he  stood  erect  with  his  face  full 
toward  the  sun  ;  ere  they  could  fire,  a  shrill  cry  pierced  the  air : 

"Wait !  in  the  name  of  France." 

Dismounted,  breathless,  with  her  arms  flung  upward,  and  her  face 
bloodless  with  fear,  Cigarette  appeared  upon  the  ridge  of  rising  ground. 

The  cry  of  command  peeled  out  upon  the  silence  in  the  voice  that 
the  Army  of  Africa  loved  as  the  voice  of  their  Little  One.  And  the  cry 
came  too  late  ;  the  volley  was  fired,  the  crash  of  sound  thrilled  across  the 
words  that  bade  them  pause,  the  heavy  smoke  rolled  out  upon  the  air,  the 
death  that  was  doomed  was  dealt. 

But  beyond  the  smoke-cloud  he  staggered  slightly,  then  stood  erect, 
almost  unharmed.  The  flash  of  fire  was  not  so  fleet  as  the  swiftness  of 
her  love ;  and  on  his  breast  she  threw  herself,  and  flung  her  arms  about 
him,  and  turned  her  head  backward  with  her  old  dauntless  sunlit  smile  as 
the  balls  pierced  her  bosom,  and  broke  her  limbs,  and  were  turned  away 
by  that  shield  of  warm  young  life  from  him. 

He  caught  her  up  where  she  dropped  to  his  feet. 

"  O  God  !  my  child  !  they  have  killed  you." 

"  Hush  !  here  is  the  Marshal's  order.  He  suspends  your  sentence  ; 
you  are  safe  ! — do  you  hear?  " 

"  Great  Heaven  !  you  have  given  your  life  for  mine  !  " 

"  A  life  !  what  is  it  to  give?     France " 

It  was  the  last  word  upon  her  utterance.  Her  eyes  met  Cecil's  in  one 
fleeting  upward  glance  of  unutterable  tenderness,  then  with  her  hands  still 
stretched  out  westward  to  where  her  country  was,  and  with  dauntless 
heroism  of  her  smile  upon  her  face  like  light,  she  gave  a  tired  sigh  as  of  a 
child  that  sinks  to  sleep,  and  in  the  midst  of  her  Army  of  Africa  the 
Daughter  of  the  Regiment  lay  dead. 


IOO 


A    BEDTIME   CLASSIC. 

BY    J.    L.    HARBOUR. 


(By  permission  of  the  Author.) 

You  may  have  told  it  over  and  over  again,  that  wonderful  story  of 
"  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,"  it  may  have  become  stale,  flat  and  unprofitable 
to  you,  but  to  your  boy  of  5  or  6  years  it  is  new  every  morning  and  fresh 
every  night.  No  sooner  is  he  in  his  little  white  "  nighty  "  than  he  says  : 

"  Now,  papa,  tell  me  a  'tory." 

"  Oh,  papa  doesn't  know  any  stories  to-night." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  papa ;  you  know  all  about  Jack  !" 

"  But  I've  told  you  that  story  so  many  times,  dear." 

"  Well,  I  like  that  'tory,  papa,  I  do,  papa,  I  do." 

"  Supposing  you  tell  me  a  story." 

"  Oh,  I  can't,  papa.  I  ain't  a  big  man,  and  I  can't  fink  up  any 
'tories.  Please  tell  me  about  Jack,  please." 

There  is  no  help  for  it.  You  may  be  "  tired  to  death,"  but  "  Jack  " 
has  to  come.  You  may  mentally  resolve  to  make  it  as  brief  as  possible, 
which,  as  you  speedily  discover,  simply  prolongs  the  tale. 

"  Well,"  you  say,  "  Jack  and  his  mother — " 

"  You  didn't  say,  '  once  upon  a  time,'  papa." 

"  O  well,  once  upon  a  time  a  boy  named  Jack  and  his  mother  lived 
in  the  woods,  and — " 

"  You  didn't  say,  '  in  a  little  old  house,'  papa.     Say  that,  too." 

"  Well,  in  a  little  old  house,  and  they  were  very  poor,  O  very  poor, 
and — " 

"And  Jack  didn't  have  any  papa." 

"  I  was  going  to  say  that." 

"  I  was  'fraid  maybe  you'd  forget  it." 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,  and  they  had  hardly  anything  to  eat  and  nothing 
but  ragged  old  things  to  wear,  and  one  day  Jack's  mother  said — " 

"  You  didn't  say  that  Jack  didn't  have  any  papa." 

"  Well,  you  said  it." 


101 

"  You  said  you  were  going  to  say  it,  too,  and  you  didn't  say  it,  and 
it  b'longs  in  the  'tory." 

"  Oh,  well,  Jack  didn't  have  any  father,  and  one  day — " 

"  Nor  no  little  brothers  or  sisters?" 

"  No ;  and  one  day  his  mother  said,  '  Jack,  we  will  have  to  sell  the 
cow,'  and  Jack  said  '  All  right,  mother,'  and — " 

"  Oh,  papa,  you're  not  telling  the  story  good  at  all.  You're  skippin', 
so  'you  are." 

"  What  have  I  skipped?" 

"  Oh,  about  how  bad  they  felt  about  selling  the  cow,  and  about  the 
cow  being  a  real  cow,  and  about  her  milk  and  about  lots  of  things.  Now 
tell  it  right,  papa." 

"  If  you  know  it  so  well,  why  can't  you  tell  it  to  me?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  'fraid  I  might  skip  some.  Anyhow,  little  boys  can't  tell 
stories.  Now  tell  about  Jack  going  out  to  sell  the  cow  and  about  the  men 
he  met  and  what  they  said,  and  about  the  beans  and — now  go  on,  papa, 
and  don't  skip." 

You  sigh  and  yawn  wearily  and  go  on  with  the  weary  tale,  which  gets 
near  the  climax  when  you  come  to  the  "  Fee,  foe,  fi,  fum"  part,  and  if 
this  is  told  with  any  lack  of  spirit  the  boy  reminds  you  of  the  omission  by 
saying  that : 

"  You  must  growl,  papa,  and  say  it  dreadful." 

"  Oh,  well,  the  giant  said  : 

"  '  Fee,  foe,  fi,  fum, 

I  smell  the  blood  of  an  Englishman. 

Be  he  alive  or  be  he  dead, 

I'll  grind  his  bones  to  make  me  bread.'  " 

And  then  you  go  on  and  on  relentlessly,  and  when  the  weary  tale  is 
done  it  almost  paralyzes  you  to  have  the  boy  say  pleadingly  : 

"  Now,  papa,  tell  it  all  over  again." 


102 


MRS.  SNIFFINS'  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  DRAMATIC 
ELOCUTIONIST. 


It  is  perfectly  impossible  to  get  a  bit  o'  peace  or  quietness  in  Mrs. 
Arassall's  boarding  house  with  the  incessant  screeching  o'  that  terrible 
Amanda  Larkins,  as  seems  to  think  herself  the  supreme  Madonna  o'  the 
country,  but  I  don't  wonder  she  complains  o'  sore  throat,  such  screaming 
must  be  very  aggravatin'  to  the  vocal  corns  and  cartridges.  As  to  her 
boasting  about  running  up  to  E  flat,  which  is  no  connection  with  singin' 
in  my  opinion,  I  remarked  in  my  most  hysterical  manner,  that  though 
not  in  right  weight  now,  when  I  was  her  age  I  could  run  up  to  any  number 
of  flats  and  wouldn't  a'  thought  I  had  no  call  to  boast  on  it  either,  and 
she,  that  impertinent,  burst  out  with  'er  silly  giggle  right  in  my  face.  But 
I  must  say  she  was  pretty  nimble  the  other  evening  when  it  happened 
and  all  through  the  slip  of  my  tongue.  I  had  just  fallen  asleep  on  the 
sofa  when  suddenly  I  was  awakened  by  hearing  a  man's  voice  shouting  in 
the  most  voracious  manner — 

Awake  !  awake  ! 

Ring  the  alarm-bell  !     Murder,  and  treason  ! 
Banquo,  and  Donalbain  !     Malcolm  !  awake  ! 
Shake  off  this  downy  sleep — death's  counterfeit, 
And  look  on  death  itself !     Up  !  up  !  and  see 
The  great  doom's  image  !     Malcolm  !  Banquo  ! 
As  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprites 
To  countenance  this  horror  ! 

And  ;  I  feeling  that  dazed  like,  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing — jumped 
up,  threw  open  the  window,  and  rings  the  dinner  bell  vociferously  shout- 
ing at  the  same  time,  fire  !  fire  !  fire  !  till  I  hadn't  a  whiff  o'  breath  left. 
Well,  such  a  promotion  as  there  was — with  people  rushing  in  and 
draggin'  about  the  furniture  and  throwing  buckets  o'  water  all  over  Mrs. 
Arassall's  carpets  and  to  climax  it,  participatin'  all  of  the  prima-donna's  4 
o'clock  china  teasel  right  out  of  the  window — though  it  wasn't  much  loss  in 
my  opinion,  for  it  was  about  as  full  of  cracks  as  her  own  voice  is — just  then 
when  the  agitation  was  at  its  height  down  comes  a  young  man  as  had 


103 

arrived  the  previous  evening  and  asks  "  what  in  the  world  there  was  such 
a  row  about  as  there  was  no  fire — only  I'm  a  practising — I'm  a  dramatic 
elocutionist."  With  that  they  all  seemed  perfectly  satisfied  and  quietly 
aspersed.  But  in  my  opinion  this  was  no  sort  of  an  explanation,  as  I 
don't  care  to  be  living  in  the  house  with  a  dramatic  elocutionist,  though 
I  must  say  he  looked  more  like  a  rumatic  lunatic,  with  his  long  black  hair 
parted  in  the  middle  and  a  wild  rolling  fire  in  his  eye.  Well,  I  makes 
up  my  mind  to  watch  him,  and  the  very  next  morning,  just  when  I  was  a 
reading  a  letter  from  John  Caesor  (I'd  better  explain  that  John  Caesor  is 
my  boy  and  is  at  school — Oxford — and  quite  a  classical  scholar)  I  had 
my  heart  nearly  analyzed  by  hearing  these  words  spoken  in  sepultural 
tone, — 

"  My  lord,  his  throat  is  cut ;  that  1  did  for  him." 

And  looking  up,  I  saw  that  rumatic  lunatic  wriggling  and  twisting 
himself  into  all  sorts  of  haptitudes  and  his  eye — as  the  poet  says  "  with  a 
wild  influenzy  rollin" — while  he  goes  on  saying  : 

"  Ay,  my  good  lord ;  safe  in  a  ditch  he  bides, 
With  twenty  trenched  gashes  on  his  head  ; 
The  least  a  death  to  nature." 

Up  to  that  time  I  had  stood  as  if  prefixed  to  the  spot — but  now  I 
suddenly  remembered  that  lunatics  could  be  held  with  a  steady  glare  of 
the  eye — so  I  fastens  my  troptics  on  him — at  the  same  time  superstitiously 
stealing  round  the  room  in  the  direction  of  the  coal  grate,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  seizing  the  tongs — 'till  then  he  hadn't  observed  me,  but  now  says, 
pointing  his  long  fingers  at  me — 

"  Whence  and  what  art  thou,  execrable  shape, 
That  darest,  though  grim  and  terrible  advance 

Thy  miscreated  front  athwart  my  way 
To  yonder  gates?     Through  them  I  mean  to  pass." 

Says  I,  feeling  my  nervous  system  fortified  by  a  pair  of  tongs  with  a 
live  coal  in  the  end  of  them,  "  I'm  no  more  of  an  execrable  shape  than 
you  are  " — with  that  he  screams  out,  "  The  woman's  mad  !  mad,  mad,  ha 
ha  ha  mad  !  "  and  seizing  the  piano-stool,  dodges  round  the  room  as  if  he 
had  got  hold  of  a  galvanic  battlement. 

Of  course  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  him,  only  to  hold  him  at  bay,  till 
help  arrived ;  but  just  at  that  moment,  my  foot  tripped  over  a  patch  in 
the  carpet  and  the  tongs  went  flying  through  the  air,  just  lighting  on  that 
lunatic's  head  and  bringing  him  down  with  a  crash,  nearly  vitrified  me  on 


104 

the  spot — and  by  the  time  I  had  regained  equilibrium,  that  coal  had 
begun  to  make  a  regular  consternation  in  his  shirt  front.  Of  course  I 
didn't  want  him  to  burn  up,  and  he  a  lying  there  as  frigid  and  helpless  as 
one  of  the  high  art  statutes  so  I  seized  a  large  antiquarian  as  was  stand- 
ing in  the  bay  window,  and  pours  the  contents  over  him.  I  soon  distin- 
guished the  flames  in  his  shirt  front,  but  it  did  go  to  my  heart  to  see  the 
goldfish  and  lizards  and  all  the  other  reptiles  jumping  about  so  uncomfort- 
able through  not  being  in  their  native  element. 

By  that  time  they  had  collected  a  croud,  and  they  picks  him  up,  lays 
him  on  the  sofa,  saying  as  how  I  had  murdered  a  harmless  young  gentle- 
man, as  was  only  practising  "  Macbeth"  to  recite  in  the  evening  at  the 
church  sociable.  "  Well,"  says  I,  paragorically  speaking,  "  I've  spread  a 
sheltering  wing  over  that  church  sociable." 

But  it  did  frighten  me  some  seeing  him  lying  there,  looking  very 
murdered,  dead  white  and  a  large  cut  in  his  forehead — so  I  left  them 
picking  up  the  goldfish  and  lizards  out  of  his  hair  and  whiskers,  and  goes 
to  the  kitchen  to  make  him  a  poultice.  When  I  returned,  I  finds  him 
beginning  to  come  to,  then  he  sits  up  and  in  a  weak  voice  says — 

"  Is  that  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me 
The  handle  toward  my  hand?" 

"  No,"  says  I,  "  its  a  poultice  of  soap  and  sugar — some  say  sweet  oil 
is  better,  but  in  my  opinion,  soap  and  sugar  is  more  drawing  " — 
"  Then,"  says  he,  having  the  ruling  passion  strong  in  death, 

"  Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,  I'll  none  of  it — 
Give  me  my  staff" — 

But  they  paid  no  heed  to  his  demonstrance,  but  poulticed  and 
bandaged  him  up  till  he  looked  like  a  becalmed  mummy. 

But  I  must  say  he's  a  real  good-hearted  young  fellow,  that  evening 
when  I  was  sitting  by  him  bathing  his  damaged  brow,  and  explaining  how 
it  happened,  so  that  I  might  extripate  the  label  on  my  character,  he 
laughed  heartily  and  said  I  had  a  fine  opinion  of  a  dramatic  elocutionist. 


A  MATRIMONIAL  VENTURE. 


BY    GERTRUDE    POTTER    DANIELS. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  Four  O'Clock,  Publishers.) 

Salina  Gray  had  reached  a  point  in  her  life  where  she  felt  that  single 
blessedness  was  a  mistake.  She  had  come  to  the  age  when  the  hair  grew 
thin  on  the  top  of  her  head.  In  fact,  all  the  hair  she  had  was  drawn  into 
the  two  side  curls  that  hung  shaking  over  her  ears. 

Salina  was  neither  tall  nor  short.  She  prided  herself  on  her  figure, 
which  was  the  only  remnant  of  past  attractiveness,  for  Salina  in  her 
youth  had  been  extremely  pretty. 

Salina  was  well  off.  She  owned  the  house  in  which  she  lived, 
besides  a  large  tract  of  land,  all  under  cultivation.  But  Salina  was 
worried  and  unhappy.  She  was  fighting  a  losing  battle  with  that  fiend 
"  Temptation,"  which  had  entered  her  pretty  white  cottage,  in  the  shape 
of  the  advertisement  of  a  matrimonial  bureau. 

The  aims  of  this  bureau  were  set  forth  in  alluring  words.  It  told  of 
uniting  handsome,  rich,  dashing  men  to  charming,  clinging,  lonely  maids. 
It  contained  written  testimonials  from  happy  couples,  and  gave  pictures  of 
attractive  homes,  resulting  from  the  matches  which  the  bureau  had  made. 
All  marriages  were  guaranteed  to  turn  out  well.  All  that  was  necessary 
to  become  one  of  their  clients  was  a  photograph  and  one  dollar.  No 
further  payment  being  required,  unless  all  parties  concerned  were  suited. 
And  Salina  fell. 

The  dollar  was  easy.  The  photograph  was  not.  She  looked  at  her- 
self in  her  tiny  mirror,  and  sighed.  She  could  not  get  away  from  those 
unmistakable  signs  of  age.  Her  face  was  wrinkled  ;  her  eyes  had  grown 
smaller ;  her  hair  could  not  be  mentioned  in  the  book  of  heaven,  for  it 
was  not  worth  the  numbering.  So,  with  a  sigh,  she  turned  from  the  glass, 
and  her  eye  fell  on  a  plush-framed  picture  which  stood  upon  the  what-not, 
She  took  that  picture  of  herself,  as  she  had  been  twenty  years  before,  and, 
with  a  long  letter  and  a  crisp,  new,  dollar  bill,  enclosed  it  in  an  envelope. 
After  dropping  the  envelope  into  the  box  at  the  post  office,  Salina  had  a 
chill.  She  filled  the  vinegar  jug  with  hot  water,  made  a  scalding  cup  of 


io6 

tea,  and  went  to  bed.  For  the  next  month  she  was  not  herself.  She 
shivered  constantly,  started  at  every  step  she  heard,  and  was  cross, 
nervous  and  wretched.  Old  Mrs.  Jenkins  told  the  sewing  circle,  that 
she  was  sure  "Miss  Gray  was  comin'  down  with  a  spell  of  chills  and 
fever." 

It  was  just  four  weeks,  to  the  day,  when  a  long  square  package 
arrived  for  Salina  Gray.  She  retired  to  her  own  room,  locked  the  door, 
and  closed  the  blinds.  Then  she  lighted  her  lamp,  and  undid  the  string 
that  bound  the  precious  bit  of  cardboard.  Her  fingers  trembled,  and  she 
breathed  spasmodically.  When  the  paper  was  finally  removed,  she  gave 
a  little  cry.  The  photograph  upon  which  she  gazed  was  that  of  a  young 
man  dressed  in  the  lavish  loudness  of  city  fashion.  Handsome,  with  a 
mustached  beauty  which  stunned  the  prim  old  maid.  Her  heart  gave  a 
bound  ;  her  eyes  grew  dim  ;  and  it  was  an  hour  before  she  had  composed 
herself  sufficiently  to  read  the  agency's  message  of  explanation.  This  letter 
was  type  written,  and  extended  over  several  large  sheets  of  paper.  It 
began  by  saying  that  the  original  of  the  photograph  would  have  the  honor 
of  paying  his  respects  to  Salina  at  her  home  on  the  day  of  the  seventeenth. 
If  he  met  with  her  approval,  and  everything  was  satisfactory,  she  could 
then  forward  to  the  bureau  the  small  sum  of  twenty  dollars,  as  final  pay- 
ment. They  expatiated  on  the  trivial  amount  of  their  charge  for  thus 
arranging  a  happy  marriage  and  a  cheerful  home,  but  explained  :  "  We 
are  not  in  the  business  for  money,  but  because  of  the  good  we  can 
do  in  lightening  the  burdens  of  just  such  forlorn,  lonely  creatures  as  you 
confided  that  you  are.  To  produce  such  results  is  ample  remuneration 
for  all  our  labors." 

Salina  was  conscious  of  only  one  thing  during  the  reading  of  the 
letter,  and  that  was  that,  this  being  the  sixteenth,  "The  Original,"  as  she 
termed  him,  was  due  the  next  morning.  She  swept,  scrubbed  and  dusted. 
She  spread  all  her  tidies  over  the  horse-hair  furniture  in  the  parlor ;  got 
out  ancient  bits  of  bric-a-brac  and  stood  them  around  awkwardly.  She 
brushed  and  sponged  her  best  gray  dress,  and  re-combed  and  curled  the 
top  piece  of  hair  which  was  larger  than  a  "  front,"  yet  smaller  than  an 
entire  wig. 

The  morning  of  the  seventeenth,  she  arose  before  dawn.  The  night 
had  been  sleepless  though  not  altogether  disagreeable.  She  ate  no  break- 
fast, but  drank  three  cups  of  hot,  strong  tea.  The  minutes  were  hours. 
Noon  came  ;  still  no  "  Original."  Salina  made  more  tea,  and  as  she 
stood  drinking  it — she  was  too  "upset  "  to  sit  down — she  heard  the  gate 
rattle.  Her  cup  dropped  from  nerveless  fingers  and  smashed  into  bits. 


A  knock  came  at  the  front  door.  She  stood  motionless ;  another  fierce 
pound,  and  she  felt  that  her  doom  was  sealed.  She  lifted  one  foot  heavily, 
then  the  other,  and  so,  dragged  herself  to  the  door. 

It  was  he.  The  same  diamond  sparkled  on  his  expansive  shirt  front. 
He  took  off  his  hat  with  a  full  sweep,  and  said  with  a  strong  element  of 
brazenness  : 

"  I  am  here  by  appointment,  and  I  wish  to  communicate  with  Miss 
Gray."  Salina  swallowed  hard.  Her  eyes  fell,  and  in  a  voice  that 
quivered,  she  said  :  "  I  am  Miss  Gray." 

"  You  Miss  Gray?     Who's  this,  then?  " 

"  The  photograph  and  I  are  one  and  the  same,  but — that — was  taken 
some  time  ago."  Then  she  began  to  retreat  into  the  house.  She  did  not 
like  his  looks. 

The  man  was  enraged.  He  had  been  taken  in,  and  he  intended  to 
teach  this  woman  a  lesson  which  would  protect  his  sex  from  such  under- 
hand games  in  the  future.  So  he  advanced  as  she  retreated.  With 
gleaming  eyes  and  clinching  fists,  he  poured  out  a  torrent  of  profane  abuse 
and  insulting  epithets  that  were  beyond  anything  Salina  ever  had  heard. 
When  he  began  to  ridicule  her  vanished  charms,  her  temper  rose  in  self- 
justification. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  still  in  her  retreat. 

"  You  cur  !  You  poor,  miserable  hound  !  You  step  out  of  this 
house,  and  you  step  out  at  once  !  "  Her  voice  was  loud  and  command- 
ing. The  man  gave  a  swagger,  but  the  woman  held  her  ground.  Slowly, 
inch  by  inch,  the  man  yielded  to  Salina's  advance.  Her  tongue  flew  in 
the  expression  of  her  thoughts,  and  her  steps  quickened  as  she  felt  herself 
mastering  the  situation.  The  man,  appreciating  her  power,  turned  and 
fled,  Salina  after  him.  Around  the  hedge  of  currant  bushes  they  ran. 
The  man,  unfamiliar  with  the  lay  of  the  land,  missed  the  gate.  Salina, 
out  of  breath  with  running,  had  ceased  talking,  and  thus,  in  solemn 
silence,  they  ran  and  dodged  and  chased. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  young  Sam  Johnson  viewed  the  scene 
from  the  roadside,  and  flying  home  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  he  shouted  : 
"  O,  maw  !  Miss  Salina  is  playing  peek-a-boo  around  the  currant  bushes 
with  a  man." 

The  news  ran  through  the  village  like  wildfire.  The  whole  sewing 
circle,  of  which  Miss  Salina  was  an  honored  member,  gathered  together, 
and  presented  itself  at  the  Gray  cottage. 

Miss  Salina,  calm  and  serene,  met  them  at  the  door.  "Walk  right  in 
and  sit  down,"  said  she.  "  I'm  just  baking  some  drop  cakes,  so  you'll 


io8 

have  to  excuse  the  looks  of  my  kitchen.  There's  been  a  man  here  who 
kind  of  hindered  me  with  my  work.  He  was  a  house  breaker."  Miss 
Salina's  conscience  would  not  permit  her  to  say  thief.  At  once  she 
became  a  heroine  of  strength  and  courage. 

The  following  week  Deacon  Haswell  made  Salina  a  formal  offer  of 
marriage. 

"A  woman  who  can  stand  off  a  house  breaker  is  the  woman  for  me," 
he  had  said. 

The  deacon  was  accepted. 


109 


PAPA  AND  THE  BOY. 

BY   J.  L.  HARBOUR. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  the  Author.) 

Charming  as  is  the  merry  prattle  of  innocent  childhood,  it  is  not 
particularly  agreeable  at  about  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  you  are 
"dead  for  sleep,"  and  wouldn't  give  a  copper  to  hear  even  Gladstone 
himself  talk.  There  are  young  and  talkative  children,  who  have  no  more 
regard  for  your  feelings  or  for  the  proprieties  of  life  than  to  open  their 
peepers  with  a  snap  at  one  or  two  A.  M.,  and  seek  to  engage  you  in 
enlivening  dialogues  of  this  sort : 

"  Papa  !  " 

You  think  you  will  pay  no  heed  to  the  imperative  little  voice,  hoping 
that  silence  on  your  part  will  keep  the  youngster  quiet ;  but  again  the 
boy  of  three  pipes  out  sharply — 

"  Papa  !  " 

"  Well?"  you  say. 

"  You  'wake,  papa?" 

"Yes." 

"So's  me." 

"  Yes,  I  hear  that  you  are,"  you  say  with  cold  sarcasm.  "  What  do 
you  want?" 

"  Oh,  nuffin." 

"  Well,  lie  still  and  go  to  sleep,  then." 

"  I  isn't  s'eepy  papa." 

"  Well,  I  am,  young  man." 

"  Is  you  ?     I  isn't — not  a  bit.     Say,  papa,  papa  !  " 

"  Well." 

"  If  you  was  rich,  what  would  you  buy  me?  " 

"  I  don't  know — go  to  sleep." 

"  Wouldn't  you  buy  me  nuffin?  " 

"  I  guess  so  ;  now  you  " — 

"What,  papa?" 

"  Well,  a  steam  engine,  may  be ;  now,  you  go  right  to  sleep." 


no 

"With  a  bell  that  would  ring,  papa?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  now  you  " — 

"  And  would  the  wheels  go  wound,  papa?" 

"Oh,  yes   (yawning).     Shut  your  eyes  now,  and  " — 

"  And  would  it  go  choo,  choo,  choo,  papa?  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  now  go  to  sleep  !  " 

"  Say,  papa." 

No  answer. 

"  Papa  !  " 

"  Well,  what  now?  " 

"  Is  you  Taid  of  the  dark?  " 

"No  "  (drowsily). 

"  I  isn't  either.     Papa  !  " 

"Well?" 

"  If  I  was  wich,  I'd  buy  you  somefin." 

"Would  you?  " 

"  Yes ;  I'd  buy  you  some  ice-cweam  and  some  chocolum  drops,  and 
a  toof  brush,  and  panties  wiv  bwaid  on  like  mine,  and  a  candy  wooster, 
and  "— 

"  That  will  do.     You  must  go  to  sleep,  now." 

Silence  for  half  a  second  ;  then  — 

"  Papa  —  papa  !  " 

"Well,  what  now?  " 

"  I  want  a  jink." 

"  No,  you  don't." 

"  I  do,  papa." 

Experience  has  taught  you  that  there  will  be  no  peace  until  you 
have  brought  the  "  jink,"  and  you  scurry  out  to  the  bathroom  in  the  dark 
for  it,  knocking  your  shins  against  everything  in  the  room  as  you  go. 

"  Now,  I  don't  want  to  hear  another  word  from  you  to-night,"  you 
say,  as  he  gulps  down  a  mouthful  of  the  water  he  didn't  want.  Two  min- 
utes later  he  says  : — 

"  Papa  !  " 

"  See  here,  laddie,  papa  will  have  to  punish  you  if" — 

"  I  can  spell  '  dog '  papa." 

"  Well,  nobody  wants  to  hear  you  spell  it  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning." 

"  B-o-g— dog  ;  is  that  right?  " 

"  No,  it  is  not;  but  nobody  cares  if" — 

"  Then  it's  '  d-o-g,'  isn't  it?  " 


"Yes,  yes  ;  now  you  lie  right  down  and  go  to  to  sleep  instantly  !  " 

"  Then  I'll  be  a  good  boy,  won't  I?" 

"  Yes,  you'll  be  the  best  boy  on  earth.     Good  night  dearie." 

"  Papa !  " 

"  Well,  well!     What  now?  " 

"  Is  I  your  little  boy?" 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  of  course." 

"  Some  man's  haven't  got  any  little  boys  ;  but  you  have,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  had  two,  free,  nine,  'leben,  twenty-six,  ninety- 
ten,  free-hundred  little  boys?  " 

The  mere  possibility  of  such  a  remote  and  contingent  calamity  so 
paralyzes  you  that  you  lie  speechless  for  ten  minutes,  during  which  you 
hear  a  yawn  or  two  in  the  little  bed  by  your  side,  a  little  figure  rolls  over 
three  or  four  times,  a  pair  of  heels  fly  into  the  air  once  or  twice,  a  warm, 
moist  little  hand  reaches  out  and  touches  your  face  to  make  sure  you  are 
there,  and  the  boy  is  asleep,  with  his  heels  where  his  head  ought  to  be. 


THEN    AG'IN. 

BY    S.    W.    FOSS. 
(Printed  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Shepard,  Publishers.) 

Jim  Bowker,  he  said  ef  he'd  had  a  fair  show, 
And  a  big  enough  town  for  his  talents  to  grow, 
And  the  least  bit  assistance  in  hoein'  his  row, 

Jim  Bowker,  he  said, 

He'd  filled  the  world  full  of  the  sound  of  his  name, 
An'  clim  the  top  round  in  the  ladder  of  fame ; 

It  may  have  been  so  ; 
I  dunno ; 

Jest  so  it  might  been, 
Then  ag'in — 

But  he  had  tarnal  luck — everythin'  went  ag'in  him, 

The  arrers  er  fortune  they  allus  'ud  pin  him ; 

So  he  didn't  get  no  chance  to  show  off  what  was  in  him, 

Jim  Bowker,  he  said, 

Ef  he'd  had  a  fair  show,  you  couldn't  tell  where  he'd  come, 
An'  the  feats  he'd  a-done,  and  the  heights  he'd  a-clumb — 

It  may  have  been  so  ; 
I  dunno ; 

Jest  so  it  might  been, 
Then  ag'in — 

But  we're  all  like  Jim  Bowker,  thinks  I,  more  or  less — 
Charge  fate  for  our  bad  luck,  ourselves  for  success, 
An'  give  fortune  the  blame  for  all  our  distress, 

As  Jim  Bowker,  he  said. 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  luck  and  misfortune  an'  sich, 
We  might  a-been  famous,  an'  might  a-been  rich, 

It  might  be  jest  so  ; 
I  dunno ; 

Jest  so  it  might  been, 
Then  ag'in — 


THE    LITTLE   TIN    TRUMPET. 

BY   JAMES    WORKMAN. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  Strand  Magazine.) 

Archie  Campbell  stood  in  the  small,  dingy,  ill-furnished  room  in 
which  his  little  son  lay  asleep,  looking  wistfully  at  the  tiny,  pale  face, 
framed  in  a  tangle  of  crisp  yellow  curls.  By  the  dim  light  of  the  candle 
it  looked  pinched  and  wan,  except  for  an  ominous  flush  on  one  of  the 
thin  cheeks.  Archie's  lips  shut  tight  to  stifle  a  groan,  and  he  turned 
hurriedly  away.  As  he  did  so  he  caught  sight  of  a  little  stocking  hanging 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  It  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  the  sight  shot  a  pang 
through  his  heart. 

The  child  stirred  uneasily  in  his  sleep. 

"  Is  that  you,  daddie?" 

"  Yes,  little  one." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  it  was  Santa  Claus.  I'm  ever  so  tired  and  sleepy, 
but  I've  been  tryin'  as  hard  as  ever  I  could  to  keep  awake,  'cos  I  wanted 
to  ask  him  to  give  me  a  little  trumpet.  I  want  a  trumpet  ever  so  much 
more  than  any  thin'  else.  You  don't  think  he'd  be  cross  if  I  asked  him 
for  one — a  very  little  one — do  you,  daddie?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  he  would." 

"  He's  almost  very  nearly  sure  to  have  trumpets,  isn't  he?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  often  has  trumpets,  and  drums,  and  swords,  and 
things." 

"  And  if  he  had,  he'd  give  me  one — just  a  little  one — if  I  was  very, 
very  polite  to  him,  wouldn't  he?" 

Haunted  by  a  sick  child's  feverish  craving  for  something  he  has  set 
his  heart  on,  Tommy  sat  up  in  bed,  with  crimson  cheeks  and  glittering 
eyes. 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course  he  would." 

"  But  suppose  that,  just  for  this  once,  he  didn't  come,  you'd  be  a 
plucky  little  chap — wouldn't  you,  Tommy?  You  wouldn't  cry  and  make 
yourself  ill — would  you?  " 

"  S'pose  he  didn't  come?  Do  you  mean,  didn't  come  at  all, 
daddie?" 


"  There,  there,  don't  cry,  little  man.  Cheer  up,  old  fellow.  I  think 
he'll  come — I'm  sure  he  will,  I  am  really.  But  you  must  go  to  sleep, 
or  perhaps  he  won't.  He  knows  just  what  little  boys  and  girls  want 
without  being  told,  and  if  he  has  any  trumpets  he'll  be  quite  sure  to  give 
you  one.  Besides,  he  doesn't  like  to  find  little  children  awake,  so  you 
must  close  your  eyes  and  keep  quite  still,  and  you'll  be  asleep  in  no  time. 
Good-night,  little  man." 

Archie  came  out  and  closed  the  door  softly  behind  him. 

"To  think  that  I  haven't  got  so  much  as  a  copper  to  buy  him  some 
cheap  little  plaything  or  two  and  a  few  sweets ;  and — and  perhaps  it's 
the  last  Christmas  he'll  be  here.  Poor  little  chap,  he  gets  thinner  and 
weaker  every  day.  Oh,  I  must  get  him  something,  I  will  get  him  some- 
thing, if  I  have  to — 

He  stopped  abruptly  and  glanced  furtively  round.  Then  snatching 
up  his  hat  and  buttoning  his  threadbare  coat,  he  stepped  hurriedly  into 
the  street. 

Eight  or  nine  months  before,  the  sudden  collapse  of  an  Australian 
bank,  in  which  his  whole  fortune  was  invested,  had  reduced  him  from  inde- 
pendence to  abject  poverty.  Since  then  he  had  drifted  to  London,  and 
had  been  straining  every  nerve  to  scrape  together  the  few  shillings  that 
would  provide  himself  and  his  little  boy  with  food  and  lodging. 

As  he  walked  hastily  along  the  crowded  streets,  shivering  in  his 
threadbare  clothes  and  faint  with  hunger,  there  was  an  almost  wolfish  glit- 
ter in  his  eyes  as  he  glared  through  the  shop  windows  at  the  food  or  jewels, 
that  lay  within  arm's  length  of  his  twitching  fingers.  Indeed,  he  looked 
so  gaunt  and  desperate,  that  well-dressed  passers-by  avoided  him,  and 
policemen  eyed  him  suspiciously. 

In  his  college  days  he  had  cherished  literary  ambitions,  but  a  com- 
fortable income  and  an  early  marriage  had  turned  his  thoughts  into  other 
channels,  and  since  his  wife's  death  the  care  of  his  little  boy  seemed  to 
have  absorbed  his  whole  time  and  attention.  When  the  bank  collapsed 
he  turned  instinctively  to  the  only  profession  that  seemed  to  require  no 
special  course  of  training,  but  the  stories  and  articles  he  wrote  with 
feverish  haste  had  so  far  been  invariably  rejected.  The  editor  of  the 
Weekly  Mirror  had  alone  betrayed  any  interest  in  his  work  ;  and  though 
he  had  politely  declined  Archie's  contributions,  had  nevertheless  given 
him  a  few  kindly  words  of  encouragement  when  he  ventured  to  call  at  the 
office. 

Knowing  the  editor's  private  address  in  a  distant  suburb,  Archie  deter- 
mined, as  a  last  resource,  to  go  there  and  implore  him  for  an  advance  of 


a  sovereign  or  two,  or  even  a  few  shillings.  In  return  he  was  willing  to 
pledge  himself  to  any  kind  of  employment,  however  distasteful  or  labori- 
ous. If  the  editor  believed  him  incapable  of  writing  satisfactory  articles, 
he  would  cheerfully  undertake  to  light  fires,  to  sweep  out  the  offices,  to 
carry  coals,  or  clean  windows.  It  comforted  him  a  little  to  enumerate  all 
the  menial  things  he  was  prepared  to  do  in  exchange  for  a  trifling  loan, 
but  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  going  to 
beg  for  charity  from  a  comparative  stranger,  and  he  turned  sick  with 
shame  at  the  thought. 

Tommy's  wasting  figure  and  pinched  white  face  goaded  him  on,  or 
he  would  have  turned  back  again  and  again.  As  he  had  to  tramp  every 
foot  of  the  way,  and  was  growing  weak  from  want  of  food,  it  was  verging 
on  midnight  before  he  reached  the  house,  a  semi-detached  villa.- 
Archie  groaned  as  he  glanced  up  at  the  windows.  Not  a  light  was 
visible.  Every  soul  in  the  house  was  probably  asleep.  He  leant  against 
the  railings  sick  at  heart  with  disappointment,  exhausted  with  hunger  and 
fatigue,  and  aching  in  every  limb.  How  could  anyone,  on  such  an  errand 
as  his,  drag  out  of  bed  at  midnight  a  man  he  had  seen  only  once  before 
in  his  life?  He  would  certainly  meet  with  nothing  but  insults  if  he  did. 

He  was  turning  away,  when  it  occurred  to  him  that  there  might 
possibly  be  a  light  in  one  of  the  side  windows  which  were  invisible  from 
the  road.  Entering  the  garden,  he  stepped  noiselessly  along  an  asphalt 
path.  Presently  he  stopped  in  front  of  a  large  window  on  the  ground 
floor,  illumined  by  a  dim,  flickering  light  within.  Approaching  a  little 
nearer,  he  could  see  through  the  partially  drawn  curtains  that  a  fire  was 
still  burning  in  the  grate. 

As  he  peered  in,  a  fragment  of  coal  dropped  into  the  white-hot 
centre  of  the  fire  and,  bursting  into  flame,  illuminated  the  whole  interior 
of  the  room.  Archie  started  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  Could  he  be  dream- 
ing? Had  he  grown  light-headed  with  hunger,  or  were  those  really  toys 
that  lay  on  the  table?  The  flame  died  down  and  the  objects  on  the 
table  grew  barely  perceptible,  but  he  could  have  sworn  that  he  had  seen 
a  doll's  house,  a  humming  top,  a  cocked  hat  with  white  plumes,  a  drum, 
a  sword,  and  above  all,  a  little  tin  trumpet. 

His  heart  began  to  beat  furiously,  and  he  turned  his  head  with  a 
furtive  sidelong  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  road.  Not  a  soul  was 
visible.  He  listened  intently,  and  could  hear  nothing  but  the  distant 
rumbling  of  a  cab.  He  turned  again  to  the  window.  The  room  was  still 
dark,  but  he  fancied  he  could  distinguish  the  little  tin  trumpet  glimmer- 
ing in  the  dim  light.  He  put  out  his  hand  toward  the  window-sash,  and 


n6 

then  suddenly  twisting  on  his  heel  walked  hurriedly  away.  As  he  did  so, 
there  rose  up  before  him  a  vision  of  a  little  pale  face  with  tear-filled  eyes 
and  quivering  lips  gazing  wistfully  into  an  empty  stocking.  He  threw  up 
his  hands  with  a  despairing  gesture  and  turned  back  again.  For  several 
minutes  he  stood  before  the  window,  listening  and  glancing  uneasily 
around  him,  and  then,  as  if  moved  by  a  sudden,  overmastering  im- 
pulse, placed  his  hands  on  the  sash  and  raised  it,  and  in  another 
moment  he  was  inside  the  room.  He  mechanically  closed  the  window 
behind  him,  and  going  straight  to  the  table,  took  up  the  trumpet  and 
carried  it  to  the  fire.  It  was  quite  new  and  glittered  bravely  in  the  fire- 
light. To  the  scarlet  cord  a  scrap  of  paper  was  pinned,  on  which  was 
written  :  "  To  Johnnie,  from  his  affectionate  Aunt  Bertha."  He  tore  off 
the  paper,  and  thrust  the  trumpet  into  the  inner  breastpocket  of  his 
coat. 

Then  he  crouched  down  by  the  fire  to  warm  his  numbed  hands. 
Presently  he  gave  the  fire  a  gentle  poke,  the  poker  made  a  slight  noise. 

"  Who's  there?" 

Archie  leapt  to  his  feet,  white  and  trembling.  He  was  too  dazed 
and  bewildered  to  decide  on  immediate  flight,  but  shrank  instinctively 
behind  the  heavy  baize  curtain  near  the  window.  Cold  sweat  stood  on 
his  forehead,  and  he  was  quaking  in  every  limb. 

"Who's  there?" 

"Papa,"  called  out  another  voice,  "What  is  it?  Is  there  someone 
in  the  house?  " 

"  Hush — keep  quiet — I  don't  know.  I  thought  I  heard  someone, 
but  perhaps  I  was  mistaken." 

There  was  a  few  moments'  silence,  and  then  Archie  heard  the  door 
creak  faintly,  and  peering  round  the  edge  of  the  curtain  saw  a  dim  figure 
stealing  cautiously  into  the  room. 

"  Is  there  anyone  here?  " 

The  man  advanced  slowly  towards  the  chandelier. 

"  I'm  going  to  light  the  gas,  and  I  warn  you  that  I  have  a  revolver 
in  my  hand,  and  that  if  you  attack  me  while  I  am  doing  so,  I'll  shoot  you 
without  a  moment's  hesitation." 

The  words  were  followed  by  the  hurried  striking  of  a  match,  and 
Archie,  turning  panic  stricken  to  the  window,  made  an  ineffectual  attempt 
to  open  it.  The  gas  flared  up  and  a  peremptory  voice  exclaimed  : 

"  You  are  hiding  behind  that  curtain.     Come  out,  or  I'll  fire." 

Livid  with  shame  and  fear,  Archie  stepped  forward  to  find  himself 
confronted  by  the  muzzle  of  a  revolver  held  in  the  outstretched  hand  of  a 


ny 

tall  bearded  man  standing  on  the  hearth-rug.  It  was  David  Grant,  the 
editor  of  the  Weekly  Mirror. 

"Oh,  it's  you — is  it?  Happy  to  meet  you  again,  I'm  sure.  So  this 
is  your  highly  respectable  calling — is  it?  and  you  merely  dabble  in  litera- 
ture in  your  leisure  moments — eh?" 

Archie  tried  to  speak,  to  explain,  but  his  tongue  seemed  paralyzed, 
and  the  words  died  on  his  lips. 

"  Papa,  what  is  it  !  I  thought  I  heard  you  speaking.  Is  there 
really  someone  here?" 

"  You  can  come  in,  Bertha  ;  it's  only  a  burglar,  a  real  live  one,  but 
quite  harmless." 

A  pretty  girl  of  about  eighteen,  attired  in  a  dainty  dressing-gown, 
stepped  timidly  in,  and  gazed  with  wide,  frightened  eyes  at  Archie's  white 
face  and  shrinking  figure. 

"  This  young  gentleman  and  I,  have  met  before.  In  his  leisure 
moments  he  devotes  himself  to  literature,  and  he  has  done  me  the 
honour  of  wishing  to  contribute  to  the  Mirror.  Unfortunately  I  was 
compelled  to  decline  his  contributions,  which  were  not  pictures  of  life, 
but  impossible  psychological  romances  evolved  from  his  inner  conscious- 
ness. It  never  seems  to  have  occurred  to  him  that  if  he  had  given  a  vivid 
description  of — shall  I  say? — his  professional  experiences,  his  manuscript 
might  have  met  with  a  very  different  reception.  However,  during  his 
temporary  retirement  from  the  active  duties  of  his  profession — which  is 
likely  to  prove  the  result  of  this  delightful  interview — he  may  possibly 
secure  an  opportunity  of  using  his  pen  to  greater  advantage,  and  I  may 
have  the  pleasure  of  accepting  a  really  live  article,  entitled  '  The  Experi- 
ences of  a  Professional  Burglar.'  " 

During  this  speech,  Archie  stood  with  bent  head,  white  face,  and 
quivering  lips. 

"  In  the  meantime,  you  have  probably  filled  your  pockets  with  my 
spoons  and  forks.  Now,  I  like  to  encourage  energetic  young  men,  and  it 
grieves  me  to  interfere  with  your  business  arrangements,  but  I  must  re- 
luctantly request  you  to  hand  them  back  again." 

Archie  took  out  the  little  tin  trumpet  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  I  took  nothing  but   that,  I  didn't  intend  to  take  anything   else." 

"  Come,  come,  my  good  fellow,  if  you  must  tell  lies — they  ought 
at  least  to  be  moderately  plausible  ones.  Do  you  expect  me  to  believe 
this?  " 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.     Bertha,  my  dear,  you'll  find  a  policeman's 


n8 

whistle  in  the  drawer  of  the  hat-stand.  Open  the  front  door  and  blow  it 
as  hard  as  you  can." 

"  Oh,  papa,  won't  you  forgive  him?  I — I'm  sure  he's  speaking 
the  truth.  Won't  you  give  him  one  more  chance?  " 

Archie  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  the  girl's  pleading  voice.  A  glim- 
mer of  hope  lit  up  his  haggard  face.  Surely,  if  he  told  them  all,  they 
would  believe  him,  would  pity  and  forgive  him.  Words  rushed  to  his  lips, 
and  despair  made  him  eloquent. 

As  they  listened  to  his  pitiful  story,  they  saw,  as  though  they  had 
actually  stood  beside  him  in  the  dingy,  ill-furnished  room,  the  thin,  wist- 
ful face  of  the  little  boy,  and  the  tiny  stocking  hanging  forlornly  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  They  saw  him  dragging  his  tired  limbs  along  the  endless 
streets,  felt  the  pang  of  disappointment  with  which  he  glanced  up  at  the 
dark  and  silent  house,  and  looking  with  him  through  the  window  beheld 
the  trumpet  glittering  in  the  firelight.  From  that  moment  the  tawdry 
little  toy  seemed  no  longer  inadequate  to  account  for  his  presence  there, 
and  when  he  concluded  he  found  Bertha  in  tears,  and  her  father  regarding 
him  with  an  almost  friendly  expression. 

"  You  will  forgive  him,  won't  you,  papa?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do ;  I'll  give  you  one  more  chance.  Sit 
down  at  that  desk  and  write  an  account  of  your  night's  adventure  and  all 
that  led  up  to  it.  Make  it  brief,  humorous,  pathetic,  and  picturesque.  If 
it's  marketable,  I'll  accept  it  and  pay  you  for  it.  What's  more,  I'll  let 
you  go,  because  there'll  be  a  chance  of  your  earning  an  honest  livelihood. 
But  if  you  can't  make  marketable  copy  out  of  such  an  experience  as  this, 
you're  a  hopeless  case,  and  the  best  thing  I  can  do  for  you  and  the  public 
is  to  hand  you  over  to  the  police.  Sit  down." 

Archie  sat  down  despondently.  His  brain  refused  to  work.  Again 
and  again  the  ink  dried  on  the  pen.  Not  a  word  would  come. 

"  Come.  I  can't  wait  all  night.  I'll  give  you  another  ten  min- 
utes, and  if  you're  not  making  headway  by  then,  I  shall  get  Bertha  to 
blow  the  whistle." 

Archie  groaned,  and  buried  his  pale  face  in  his  hands.  His  brain 
seemed  incapable  of  evolving  a  single  coherent  sentence.  Then  suddenly 
through  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  little  tin  trumpet. 
It  suggested  what  struck  him  as  an  appropriate  title  for  his  narrative,  and 
he  wrote  it  down.  Then  half  unconsciously  to  himself  his  pen  traced  a  few 
words  of  the  conversation  which  had  taken  place  between  himself  and 
Tommy,  and  a  moment  later  his  eyes  sparkled,  his  cheeks  flushed  and  he 
was  writing  page  after  page  without  effort  or  hesitation,  and  with  a  com- 


mand  of  appropriate  language,  with  touches  of  mingled  humor  and  pathos 
that  subsequently  amazed  him. 

When  at  length  he  stopped  he  looked  bewildered,  like  a  man 
suddenly  awakened  out  of  a  dream.  Without  a  word  he  handed  the 
manuscript  to  Grant,  and  waited  hopelessly  for  his  verdict. 

Grant  read  it  through  without  comment,  then  cleared  his  throat. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  yourself?  " 

"  It's  no  use,  I  shall  never  do  any  good." 

"  Cheer  up,  my  lad.  You're  wrong  this  time.  I  always  thought  you 
had  it  in  you.  The  stuff's  first-rate — as  good  stuff  as  I've  had  for  many  a 
day.  I'll  take  it  and  pay  you  for  it." 

Archie  looked  up,  stupefied  with  astonishment.  Grant  was  smiling 
down  at  him,  and  there  were  tears  in  Bertha's  soft  brown  eyes. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  mean  it.  You'll  do ;  with  a  little  coaching  you'll  do 
very  well.  At  any  rate,  you'll  never  succeed  as  a  burglar.  In  the  mean- 
time I  can't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  deprive  you  of  the  proceeds  of  your 
first  and  probably  your  last  appearance  in  that  fascinating  character ;  and 
so  you'll  greatly  oblige  me  if  you'll  put  that  trumpet  back  in  your  pocket. 
Pooh,  don't  hesitate,  man.  Bertha  intended  it  for  a  present  to  a  little 
scapegrace  of  a  nephew  of  hers  who  is  going  to  dine  with  us  to-morrow. 
He'll  be  quite  as  well  pleased  with  a  shilling  or  two  to  spend  in  any  way 
he  chooses.  Now,  I  daresay  you'd  prefer  cash  to  a  cheque?  I  thought 
so.  Well,  I'll  see  if  I  can  scrape  a  few  coins  together  while  Bertha  gets 
you  something  to  eat.  What  do  you  say?  Couldn't  think  of  troubling  us? 
What  rubbish.  Sit  down  this  instant,  or  as  sure  as  you're  born  I'll  get 
out  that  whistle  and  give  you  in  charge  before  you  know  where  you  are." 

Tommy  shouted  with  delight  when  he  awoke  the  next  morning  to 
find  his  stocking  bulkier  than  usual,  and  on  the  top  of  all  the  fine  things  it 
contained  the  desire  of  his  heart,  a  trumpet.  He  couldn't  imagine  how 
Santa  Claus  had  guessed  that  it  was  just  the  one  thing  he  wanted  above 
all  others. 

Archie  is  now  a  thriving  journalist,  but  if  you  could  look  into  a  cer- 
tain carefully-locked  drawer  you  would  find  a  photograph  of  a  pretty  girl 
with  soft  brown  eyes,  and  close  beside  it — battered,  bent  and  almost 
unrecognizable — the  little  tin  trumpet. 


JIMMY    BROWN. 


BY    W.    I,.    ALDEN. 


Jimmy  Brown  was  a  little  boy  who  always  tried  to  do  the  very  best 
he  could,  yet  was  constantly  getting  into  trouble. 

The  following  is  an  account  of  his  little  trouble  with  Mr.  Marten  as 
recited  by  himself. 


Oh  !  we've  been  having  a  dreadful  time  at  our  house,  and  I  have 
done  very  wrong.  Oh,  I  always  admit  it  when  I've  done  wrong.  There's 
nothing  meaner  than  to  pretend  that  you  haven't  done  wrong  when  every- 
body knows  that  you  have.  It  all  happened  last  Tuesday  night.  Just  as 
it  was  getting  dark ;  this  was  the  way  it  happened. 

I  was  playing  Indian  in  the  yard,  and  I  was  playing  it  was  snowing. 
I  do  love  snow,  there  isn't  anything  except  a  rat-terrier  that  is  as  beauti- 
ful as  snow. 

Mr.  Travers  (that  Sue's  beau),  he  says  that  seven  hundred  men  once 
wrote  a  poem  and  called  it  "  Beautiful  Snow,''  and  that  even  then,  though 
they  were  all  big,  strong  men,  they  couldn't  find  words  enough  to  tell  how 
beautiful  it  was. 

Well,  I  was  playing  it  was  snowing,  and  I  was  an  Indian,  and  I  had  a 
wooden  tomahawk  and  a  wooden  scalping-knife  and  a  bownarrow.  I  was 
dressed  up  in  father's  old  coat  turned  inside  out,  and  had  six  chicken 
feathers  in  my  hair.  I  was  playing  I  was  Green  Thunder,  the  Delaware 
chief,  and  was  hunting  for  pale-faces  in  the  yard.  It  was  just  after  sup- 
per, and  1  was  having  a  real  nice  time,  when  Mr.  Travers  came,  and  he 
said,  "Jimmy,  what  are  you  up  to  now?"  So  I  told  him  I  was  Green 
Thunder,  and  was  on  the  war-path.  Said  he,  "  Jimmy,  I  think  I  saw  Mr. 
Martin  on  his  way  here.  Do  you  think  you  would  mind  scalping  him?" 
I  said  I  wouldn't  scalp  him  for  nothing,  for  that  would  be  cruelty ;  but  if 
Mr.  Travers  was  sure  that  Mr.  Martin  was  the  enemy  of  the  red  man, 
then  Green  Thunder's  heart  would  ache  for  revenge,  and  I  would  scalp 
him  with  pleasure.  Mr.  Travers  said  that  Mr.  Martin  was  a  notorious 


enemy  and  oppressor  of  the  Indians,  and  he  gave  me  ten  cents,  and  said 
that  as  soon  as  Mr.  Martin  should  come  and  was  sitting  comfortably  on 
the  piazza,  I  was  to  give  the  warwhoop  and  scalp  him. 

Well,  in  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Martin  came,  and  he  and  Mr.  Travers  and 
Susan  sat  on  the  piazza,  and  talked  as  if  they  were  all  so  pleased  to  see 
each  other,  which  was  the  highest  pocracy  in  the  world.  After  a  while 
Mr.  Martin  saw  me,  and  said,  "  How  silly  boys  are  !  that  boy  makes 
believe  he's  an  Indian,  and  he  knows  he's  only  a  little  nuisance."  Now 
this  made  me  mad,  and  I  thought  I  would  give  him  a  good  scare,  just  to 
teach  him  not  to  call  names  if  a  fellow  does  beat  him  in  a  fair  game.  So 
I  began  to  steal  softly  up  the  piazza,  steps,  and  to  get  around  behind  him. 
When  I  got  about  six  feet  from  him  I  gave  a  warwhoop,  and  jumped  at 
him.  I  caught  hold  of  his  scalp-lock  with  one  hand,  and  drew  my 
wooden  scalping-knife  around  his  head  with  the  other. 

I  never  got  such  a  fright  in  my  whole  life.  The  knife  was  that  dull 
that  it  wouldn't  cut  butter;  but,  true  as  I  sit  here,  Mr.  Martin's  whole 
scalp  came  right  off  in  my  hand.  I  thought  I  had  killed  him,  and  I 
dropped  his  scalp,  and  said,  "  For  mercy's  sake  !  I  didn't  go  to  do  it,  and 
I'm  awful  sorry."  But  he  just  caught  up  his  scalp,  stuffed  it  in  his  pocket, 
and  jammed  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  walked  off,  saying  to  Susan,  "  I 
didn't  come  here  to  be  insulted  by  a  little  wretch  that  deserves  the  gal- 
lows." 

Mr.  Travers  and  Susan  never  said  a  word  until  he  had  gone,  and 
then  they  laughed  until  the  noise  brought  father  out  to  ask  what  was  the 
matter.  When  he  heard  what  had  happened,  he  said,  "  My  son,  you  may 
come  up-stairs  with  me." 

But  then — what  is  the  use  saying  anything  more  about  it ;  it's  all  over 
now — but  if  any  of  you  have  ever  been  a  boy,  you  know  what  happened 
up-stairs. 


(From  "  Adventures  of  Jimmy  Brown."     Copyright  1885,  by  Harper  &  Brothers.) 


122 


WAIKIKI." 


BY    ROLLIN  M.    DAGGETT 


(Dedicated  to  "  Waikiki,"  the  favorite  sea-side  resort  of  Honolulu.     Presented  by  the  author  1882.) 

The  cocoa,  with  its  crest  of  spears, 

Stands  sentry  'round  the  crescent  shore, 
And  algaroba,  bent  with  years, 

Keeps  watch  beside  the  lanai  door. 
The  cool  winds  fan  the  mango's  cheek. 

The  mynah  flits  from  tree  to  tree, 
And  zephyrs  to  the  roses  speak 

Their  sweetest  words  at  Waikiki. 

Like  truant  children  of  the  deep 

Escaped  behind  a  coral  wall, 
The  lisping  wavelets  laugh  and  leap, 

Nor  heed  old  ocean's  stern  recall, 
All  day  they  frolic  with  the  sands, 

Kiss  pink-lipped  shells  in  wanton  glee, 
Make  windrows  with  their  patting  hands, 

And,  singing,  sleep  at  Waikiki. 

The  closing  curtain  of  the  night 

Is  shading  down  the  gold  to  gray, 
And  on  the  reef  the  flaring  light 

Of  brown-armed  fishers,  far  away, 
Dyes  red  the  waves  that  thunder  by 

The  sturdy  bulwarks  of  the  sea, 
And  breaking  into  riplets,  die 

Upon  the  breast  of  Waikiki. 

Now  come  wild  echoes  through  the  air 

And  shadow  of  a  rugged  face, 
With  iron  limbs  and  shoulders  bare — 

The  chieftnin  of  a  duskv  race 


123 

Whose  hostile  front,  with  lifted  lance, 
And  war-proas  flecking  all  the  sea 

Swept  through  the  palms  with  bold  advance 
Along  the  shores  of  Waikiki. 

And  all  unchecked  in  martial  course 

By  menace  or  the  spear  of  foe, 
The  misty  columns  move  in  force, 

Their  chieftain  leading  as  they  go, 
Up,  up  Muuanu's  rocky  bed 

Till,  looking  down  through  clouds,  they  see 
The  beetling  front  of  Diamond  Head 

And  silver  sands  of  Waikiki. 

On  !  on  !  the  foe  has  reached  the  verge, 

And  o'er  the  Pali's  awful  side, 
With  shout  and  stroke  and  battle-surge 

Is  poured  a  shrieking  human  tide. 
Then  all  is  still ;  the  work  is  done, 

And  thus  the  shadows  come  to  me 
When  twilight  clouds,  kissed  by  the  sun, 

Have  bronzed  the  shores  of  Waikiki. 

And  then,  with  tropic  murmurs   blent, 

Come  distant  voices  half  divine, 
While  mingled  with  the  Ylangylang's  scent 

Is  breath  of  sage  and  mountain  pine  ; 
And  from  Diablo's  vine-clad  feet, 

From  desert  bleak  and  green  Mautnee 
Are  wafted  strains  to  me  as  sweet 

As  e'er  were  heard  at  Waikiki. 

O  Waikiki  !     O  scene  of  peace  ! 

O  home  of  beauty  and  of  dreams  ! 
No  haven  in  the  isles  of  Greece 

Can  chord  the  harp  to  sweeter  themes  ; 
For  houris  haunt  the  broad  lanais, 

While  scented  zephyrs  cool  the  lea, 
And,  looking  down  from  sunset  skies. 

The  angels  smile  on  Waikiki. 


124 


THE   STRANDED    SHIP. 


BY    L.    CLARKE   DAVIS. 


ARRANGED  BY  SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  Publishers.) 

Luke  Connor  was  an  outcast  from  society.  When  he  was  graduated 
from  Harvard  all  blessings  of  life  seemed  his  :  Abundant  means,  superb 
physical  health  and  hosts  of  friends.  But  the  very  night  of  commence- 
ment a  letter  was  banded  him,  telling  him  that  his  sister  had  died  con- 
fessing an  awful  wrong,  and  the  man  who  had  wrought  this  wrong  was  his 
friend  and  classmate.  That  was  the  bitter  part  of  it  all — his  friend. 
Stunned,  maddened  by  the  shock,  he  pursued  and  killed  the  man,  and 
flung  him  headlong  into  the  rising  tide.  Then  the  boy,  whose  work  was 
done,  but  whose  boyhood  had  slipped  away  forever,  gave  himself  up  to 
justice,  expecting  and  desiring  death.  The  jury  acquitted  him,  and  he 
left  the  country. 

After  remaining  abroad  several  years  he  returned,  and  was  spending 
a  few  weeks  at  a  beach  on  the  Jersey  coast.  Here  he  met  Professor 
Daunton,  one  of  his  college  professors.  One  morning  at  the  break  of 
day  the  people  at  the  old  farmhouse  were  awakened  from  sleep  by  the 
discharge  of  a  solitary  gun,  so  near  and  distinct  that  it  startled  the  sleepers 
from  their  beds.  It  was  followed  by  a  second  report,  and  by  others. 
There  was  hurried  dressing  and  a  quick  tramp  to  the  sea,  for  the  slow 
booming  gun  told  of  life  to  be  saved — men  and  horses  thundered  along 
the  hard  beach  with  the  life-boats  on  their  carriages  surrounded  by  yell- 
ing wreckers,  grim  and  alert.  The  horses  flew  along,  untouched  by  whip, 
as  if  they  knew  the  necessity  for  speed.  But  when  the  wreckers  arrived 
opposite  the  stranded  ship,  against  which  the  waves  thumped  mercilessly, 
there  fell  a  dead  silence  among  them  all.  They  looked  towards  the 
monster  wreck  and  then  into  each  other's  faces,  hopeless,  dismayed — no 
boat  could  live  on  such  a  sea. 

The  ship  had  come  on  broadside   to  the   sand,  and   was  strained 


125 

badly.  She  still  held  together  above  decks,  but  showed  an  ugly  break  in 
her  hull  amidship.  The  women  who  had  husbands  stood  about  the  boats 
on  which  the  men  sat,  entreating  and  forbidding  them  to  venture  out. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  for  these  poor  people,  Captain  Brown?  "  said  a 
woman.  "  You  can  do  something ;  do  not  let  them  go  down  into  the  sea 
before  our  eyes  without  making  a  single  effort,  Captain  !  " 

"  It's  no  use ;  she's  doomed,  that  ship  is ;  and  she'll  go  down  before 
our  eyes,  and  we  can't  help  'em." 

"  I'm  not  a  strong  man,  Captain  Brown,"  said  the  Professor,  "  but  I 
was  accounted  a  good  stroke  once  in  the  Cambridge  crew,  and  I  would 
like  to  make  one  of  a  party  to  attempt  the  rescue  of  those  people 
there." 

"  You  would?  Then  by  the  good  Lord,  Professor,  I'll  make  another  ! 
Hello,  men  !  Who'll  volunteer  to  go  out  there  with  a  line  to  that  ship  ? 
It's  a  desprit  service,  but  Professor  Daunton  is  going,  and  I  am  going ; 
and  now  who  else'll  go  ?  Good  for  you,  Bill  Shadrick  !  Good  for  you, 
Tom  Hempill  !  You're  men,  you  are  !  Now  some  more  of  you  as  hain't 
got  anybody  at  home.  Who's  the  next  man  to  go  into  the  boat?  " 

Two  others  instantly  volunteered,  and  despite  the  cries  of  children 
and  wives,  the  men  leaped  into  the  boat,  and  each  one  with  a  last  look 
shoreward,  quietly  poised  his  oar  in  the  air,  stiffened  himself  in  his  place, 
and  sat  solemnly  watching  the  mountainous  wave  over  which  he  was  to 
be  hurled. 

Half  a  hundred  brawny  hands  seized  the  boat  and  tried  to  launch 
her,  unsuccessfully  at  first,  but  on  the  fourth  trial  she  plunged  into  the 
breakers,  and  in  the  next  moment  she  was  thrown  high  and  dry  upon  the 
beach,  smashed  like  an  egg-shell,  her  crew  all  safe  but  a  good  deal  bruised 
and  hurt. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  no  use.  I  know  a  sea  when  I  see  it,  and  I 
knowed  no  boat  could  live  a  minute  out  there." 

"  What  chance,  Captain?  " 

It  was  a  pleasant  voice  that  had  asked  the  question.  The  old  man 
looked  up  at  the  graceful  figure  of  the  speaker  on  horseback. 

"  Captain  Connor,  there  is  no  chance  for  them  poor  souls  on  that 
wreck.  Only  God  and  a  miracle  will  let  them  see  home  again." 

"  Only  God  and  a  miracle?  " 

"  Yes,  just  that !  " 

"  Have  you  tried  the  boat?  " 

"  Does  that  look  as  if  we  had  tried  the  boat?  " 

"  Very  much  like  it,  Captain  Brown  ;    but  are  there   no  more  volun- 


126 

teers?  My  men,  you  know  me;  I  will  give  a  thousand  dollars  to  every 
man  who  lends  a  hand  to  carry  a  line  to  that  ship."  A  dead  silence 
among  the  men,  dark  scowls  among  the  women. 

"What!  no  answer?  You  want  more?  Well,  you  shall  have  it. 
Any  six  of  you  stand  out  there  and  name  your  price.  Don't  be  afraid, 
I'll  pay  it  down." 

No  man  stirred  ;  the  women  crept  closer  to  their  husbands,  glaring 
savagely  at  Connor. 

"  You  wont  go  ?  Why,  you  cowards  !  Are  you  afraid  of  a  bit  of 
dirty  water  or  some  salt  spray  washing  over  you?  Will  nothing  tempt  you?  " 

"  We  are  not  cowards,  Captain  Connor,  but  no  boat  can  live  out 
there — it  has  been  tried,"  a  wrecker  said  doggedly. 

"  Try  it  again,  you  cowards  !  You  have  been  upon  the  sea  all  your 
miserable  lives  and  yet  not  a  man  of  you  will  stir." 

The  bitter  words  were  scarcely  uttered,  when  a  gaunt  old  fish-wife, 
her  arms  bared  to  the  elbow,  her  face  as  brown  as  the  dead  kelp,  seized 
his  bridle,  and  with  a  quick  jerk  threw  his  horse  back  on  his  haunches. 
"  Cowards  are  we?  Then  what  are  you?  What  are  you  coming  here  to 
tempt  to  their  certain  death  these  men  with  children  and  wives?  Why 
don't  you  go  yourself?  What  is  your  dirty  money  to  you?  You  never 
worked  in  storm,  in  sleet  and  hail  and  snow,  for  a  dollar  a  day  saving 
human  lives  !  Go  carry  a  line  to  the  ship  yourself.  Save  your  filthy 
bribes,  you  murderer,  and  earn  the  right  to  call  our  sons  and  husbands 
cowards  !  Go  yourself!  " 

When  the  word  murderer  escaped  her  lips  his  cheeks  blanched,  and 
he  grew  dizzy  for  a  moment,  but  recovering  himself,  he  leaned  forward 
in  his  saddle. 

"  My  friends.  I  was  wrong  and  this  good  wife  is  right.  I  will  carry 
a  line  to  the  ship." 

Something  she  saw  in  the  calm,  solemn  eyes  of  Luke  Connor  told  her 
that  he  meant  to  do  it,  and  it  chilled  the  blood  in  her  heart.  The  old 
woman  stared  hard  into  the  man's  face. 

"  You  !  You  carry  a  line  to  yon  poor  wretches?  It  can't  be  done, 
Captain  Luke.  It  can't  be  done,  I  tell  you.  I  didn't  mean  to  be  rough 
and  to  make  you  do  a  mad  thing  like  that.  You  can't  save  'em,  Captain 
Luke.  Only  God  can  do  that  !  " 

"  Then  under  God  I  will  do  it !  " 

She  turned  fiercely  upon  the  wreckers.  "  Do  you  mean  to  let  him 
throw  his  life  away  before  your  eyes?  If  you  do,  you're  greater  cowards 
than  he  called  you  just  now  ! " 


12? 

Luke  leaped  from  his  horse.  "  Captain  Brown,  I  propose  to  carry  a 
line  to  yonder  ship.  You  said  a  while  ago  that  only  God  and  a  miracle 
could  save  those  poor  people  there." 

"  Yes,  I  did  say  that." 

"  Well,  Captain,  is  not  your  God  as  strong  and  able  to  help  His 
people  today  as  He  was  eighteen  hundred  years  ago?  " 

"This  ain't  the  time  of  miracles,  Captain  Luke.  Now  look  for  your- 
self: Can  you  carry  a  line  out  yonder — can  any  man  do  it?  " 

Luke  Connor  deliberately  surveyed  the  prospect  before  him ;  he  saw 
all  the  danger,  all  the  necessity,  too,  and  felt  how  desperate  the  chances 
really  were.  "  I  can  try.  The  most  of  the  danger  lies  there  in  that  first 
breaker ;  there  is  some  in  the  second,  and  less  in  the  third.  If  I  could 
pass  the  three  lines  of  breakers  the  tide  would  favor  me,  and  I  could 
almost  feel  certain  of  success.  Will  you  help  me?" 

"  It's  no  use,  Captain  Luke  ;  it  aren't  in  mortal  power  to  do  it." 

"  I  am  only  one  man,  and  there  are  at  least  a  hundred  on  that  ship. 
She  cannot  last  much  longer  with  that  sea  hammering  the  life  out  of  her 
at  every  stroke." 

An  awful,  piercing  cry  went  up  from  the  wreck,  drowning  the  beat  of 
the  waves  and  the  roar  of  the  wind  The  vessel  had  parted  amidship, 
and  men  and  women  were  struggling  in  the  sea,  clinging  desperately  to 
fragments  of  the  wreck. 

The  old  wrecking  master  gave  a  single  glance  at  the  new  and  eminent 
danger,  and  then  said  :  "  I'll  help  you  ;  there's  not  a  man  here  as  won't 
help  you.  If  you  don't  come  back — an'  God  help  you  will — I'd  like  to 
stand  near  you  up  there.  And  now  are  you  ready?  " 

"  All  ready,  Captain  !  " 

The  old  wrecking  master  securely  fastened  the  thin,  strong  cord 
about  his  shoulders  and  under  his  arms.  The  naked  figure  of  the  man 
gleamed  white  and  solid ;  the  knotted  muscles  stood  up  about  the  arms 
and  thighs  and  breast  in  hard,  steely  bunches.  Luke  looked  death  in 
the  face  squarely  and  did  not  falter ;  but  as  the  mountainous  wave  rolled 
in  foaming  and  hungry,  he  murmured,  "  God  have  mercy  on  me,  a 
sinner  !  " 

The  thundering  wave  reared  its  awful  crest  and  poised  itself  for  the 
break  upon  the  shore.  He  sprang  forward,  plunging  headlong  under  it. 
Then  the  men  about  the  ropes  stood  ready  to  receive  again  his  body  with 
life  or  without  it.  With  terror  in  their  faces  they  turned  to  watch  the  line 
that  slowly  began  to  glide  through  the  master's  fingers.  For  a  moment 
they  all  stood  silently  watching  coil  after  coil  glide  away  ;  then  the  master 


128 

looked  up,  his  lips  white,  his  hands  trembling.  "  Thank  God,  mates  !  he 
has  passed  the  first  breaker  !  " 

He  had;  and  he  prepared  himself  for  the  next  one.  He  saw  it 
sweeping  down  upon  him  with  a  mighty  surge  and  roar,  but  before  it 
could  reach  him  he  was  down  again  beneath  it,  and  in  the  undertow  of 
the  second  breaker,  going  rapidly  out  to  sea. 

The  people  stood  looking  out  among  the  waves  with  anxious,  hope- 
less eyes.  The  third  breaker  had  passed  harmlessly  over  him,  but 
between  him  and  the  ship  there  was  yet  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  mad, 
turbulent  sea,  rolling  and  heaving  before  the  wind,  on  which  he  was 
tossed  like  a  cork.  On  each  wave  he  rose  and  fell,  now  going  ahead, 
now  losing  in  one  moment  more  than  he  had  gained  in  three ;  yet  on  the 
whole  surely  lessening  the  distance  between  him  and  the  ship,  for  the  tide 
carried  him  forward.  The  minutes  seemed  to  have  crept  into  hours, 
hours  into  days. 

"  What  is  it,  Captain  Brown?     What  is  it  that  is  wrong?  " 

"  Nothing ;  but  more  nor  an  hour  is  gone,  and  we  should  a  drawed 
in  afore  now." 

A  frightened  whisper  went  through  the  crowd  and  killed  every  par- 
ticle of  hope  within  them. 

"  There  be  a  dead  man  or  shark  at  t'other  end  of  that  line  !  " 

Suddenly  the  old  fisher-wife  started  up  from  among  them,  her  hand 
tossing  back  her  hair  from  her  eyes,  her  right  arm  stretched  straight  out 
before  her,  her  voice  ringing.  "  No,  no,  no  !  you  mistake  !  See  there ; 
see  there  !  Look  at  the  ship,  and  thank  God  !  Oh,  thank  God,  all  of 
you  !  " 

They  turned  their  eyes  and  they  saw  a  man  dragged  up  fromg  among 
the  jib-chains  of  the  wrecked  ship.  They  saw  him  mount  to  the  deck, 
and  heard  the  passengers  and  crew  shout  out  their  joyful  cry  of  deliver- 
ance. 

"  Now,  then,"  the  old  captain  yelled,  "  can't  you  men  raise  a  single 
cheer  for  the  brave  fellow  as  saved  a  hundred  lives?" 

No,  they  could  not.  The  old  captain  could  not  do  it  himself. 
Their  sudden  gladness  choked  them.  But  the  moment  gone,  they 
shouted  till  they  were  hoarse,  and  then  all  of  them  went  to  work.  Away 
spun  the  line,  away  and  away,  until  the  last  strong  cable  of  all  was  made 
fast  to  the  ship,  drawn  taut,  and  then  along  spun  the  life-car  with  a  couple 
of  brave  fellows  in  it  to  the  wreck.  In  five  minutes  it  was  back  again  on 
shore.  The  sturdy  wreckers  worked  with  a  will,  and  dragged  the  life-car 
to  and  from  the  ship  until  every  man,  woman  and  child  were  landed. 


129 

When  the  last  load  came  ashore  everyone  crowded  down  as  near  to 
the  sea  as  they  could  get,  wanting  to  welcome  their  hero  among  them 
again. 

When  he  landed  what  a  shout  they  sent  up  !  The  rescued  drew  near 
to  him,  craving  only  to  touch  the  man  Luke  Connor  who  had  delivered  a 
hundred  lives  from  the  jaws  of  death. 

And  among  them  the  man  whom  he  thought  he  had  killed  and 
flung  off  Dunlethe's  wharf,  long  ago — and  Luke  Connor  feeling  as  if  God 
himself  stood  somewhere  near — said  under  his  breath,  "  God,  I  thank 
Thee  for  this." 


I30 


PUTTING  THE  BABY  TO  SLEEP. 

BY    J.    L.    HARBOUR. 


(By  permission  of  the  Author.) 

Did  you  ever  try  to  get  a  baby  to  sleep?  A  real,  lively,  rollicking 
rascal  of  a  baby  who  doesn't  intend  snoozing  away  any  more  of  his  valu- 
able time  than  he  has  to. 

There  have  been  evenings,  I  dare  say,  when  the  pleasure  of  putting 
baby  to  sleep  has  been  yours. 

Perhaps,  if  it  is  a  first  experience,  you  are  rather  glad  of  the  chance 
to  convince  your  wife  that  she  has  fallen  into  the  habit  of  wasting  a  deal 
of  time  in  getting  that  youngster  to  sleep  evenings.  You  have  always 
felt  and  said  that  you  could  get  him  to  sleep  in  a  fourth  of  the  time  your 
wife  spends.  All  is  required  is  a  little  firmness.  The  baby  wants  to 
simply  be  made  to  understand  that  it  is  bedtime  and  that  he  must  go  to 
sleep.  That  is  your  theory,  and  now  you'll  put  it  into  practice. 

Well,  mamma  departs,  and  you  take  baby,  robed  in  his  little  white 
u<  nighty  " — the  nearest  thing  to  an  angel  there  is  on  this  earth. 

You  pick  him  up  and  say  fondly,  but  firmly  : 

"  Now  papa's  little  baby  boy  must  go  right  to  sleep." 

"  Now,  baby,  shut  his  little  eyes." 

"  Goo,  goo,"  he  says,  with  his  eyes  wide  open. 

"  Baby,  papa  wants  to  read  his  paper  and  baby  must  go  to  sleep." 

If  ever  a  baby  said  "  I  won't  do  it"  with  his  heels,  your's  says  it 
about  this  time,  for  the  way  he  lets  his  little  pink  heels  fly  into  the  air 
means  nothing  less  than  a  distinct  and  positive  "  I  won't." 

You  then  hold  him  firmly  in  your  arms,  and  he  begins  to  squirm. 
He  writhes  and  wriggles  with  unexpected  strength  and  pluckily  contends 
for  freedom,  until  you  let  him  go  through  sheer  admiration  of  his  grit. 

"  Goo,  goo,"  he  says. 

"  Baby,  dear,"  you  say  plaintively,  "  won't  papa's  baby  go  to  sleep 
now — that's  a  good  baby." 


Then  the  good  baby  manifests  his  intention  of  getting  down  and 
crawling  all  over  the  floor.  Foiled  in  this,  he  concludes  to  crawl  all  over 
you.  His  little  fingers  clutch  your  beard  and  you  haven't  the  heart  to 
shake  him  off,  not  even  when  he  pulls  so  hard  that  your  eyes  are  full  of 
tears.  Then  he  pokes  his  fingers  into  your  nose,  eyes  and  ears,  giving  the 
result  of  his  investigations  in  a  series  of  gurgling  "goo-goos,"  indicating 
that  he  is  as  wide-awake  as  he  ever  was  in  his  life,  and  he  thinks  he  can 
hold  out  three  or  four  hours  yet.  You  haul  him  down  into  your  arms  and 
say  : 

"  Now,  if  baby  don't  go  right  to  sleep,  papa  will  have  to  whip. 
Shall  papa  whip  baby?" 

The  "goo-goo"  he  now  screeches  out  means,  "Do  so  at  you  own 
risk."  Whip  him  !  There  is  more  or  less  of  the  brute  in  every  man,  but 
you  inwardly  thank  God  that  your  brutal  tendencies  don't  run  in  the 
direction  of  pounding  babies. 

You  simply  cuddle  him  up  in  your  arms  and  begin  rocking  him  to 
and  fro  in  such  a  manner  that  he  couldn't  go  to  sleep  if  he  wanted  to,  no 
more  than  you  could  if  lashed  to  a  trip-hammer.  Then  you  sing  every- 
thing you  know,  from  "  Rock  of  Ages  "  down  to  "  Annie  Rooney,"  all  in 
one  key,  for,  ten  to  one,  you  can't  sing  a  note  correctly  to  save  your  life. 

This  concert  lasts  an  hour  and  a  half  and  baby  lives  through  it  all 
and  has  vitality  enough  to  pop  up  at  the  close  of  it  with  a  cheery  : 

"  Ya,  ya  !     Goo,  goo  !  " 

Then  you  shake  him  a  little  and  say  : 

"  Now,  young  man,  I've  had  just  about  enough  of  this.  You've 
simply  got  to  go  to  sleep  !  Go  to  sleep  .' " 

Now  you've  made  him  cry.  He  slips  limply  down  into  your  arms 
and  opens  his  mouth  in  one  prolonged  yell,  followed  by  another  and 
another  until  he  has  emitted  about  a  thousand  of  them.  You  walk  the 
floor  with  him  ;  you  jounce  him  up  and  down ;  you  coax  and  wheedle 
and  scold  and  fume. 

Bye-and-by  his  cries  grow  weaker  and  fewer ;  you  feel  his  little  form 
relaxing  in  your  arms,  his  little  limbs  hang  limply,  his  curly  head  lies 
heavily  on  your  shoulder,  his  eyelids  droop  slowly,  and,  with  that  most 
pitiful  of  sounds,  the  sobbing  of  a  child  in  its  sleep,  the  little  fellow  wan- 
ders into  dreamland.  You  are  free  to  lay  him  down  now  and  take  up 
your  book  or  your  paper,  but  you  don't  always  do  it.  You  simply  sit 
down  gently  with  the  baby  still  in  your  arms  and  your  eyes  fixed  on  his 
flushed  little  face. 


132 

There  you  sit  for  an  hour,  may  be,  looking  into  the  face  of  the 
troublesome  little  bit  of  humanity  in  your  arms,  a  treasure  for  which  you 
would  lay  down  your  life. 

P.  S.  —  I  forgot  to  say  that  after  you  have  very  carefully  laid  him 
down  and  crawled  away  from  his  cradle  on  your  hands  and  knees  so  as 
not  to  awaken  him,  you  are  paralyzed  by  a  loud  and  distinct  "  Ya  !  ya  ! 
ya/"  and  you  have  to  do  it  all  over  again. 


THE  AUCTIONEER'S  GIFT 


BY  S.  W.  FOSS. 


(By  permission  of  Lee  &  Shepard.) 

The  auctioneer  leaped  on  a  chair,  and  bold  and  loud  and  clear, 
He  poured  his  cataract  of  words,  just  like  an  auctioneer. 
An  auction  sale  of  furniture,  where  some  hard  mortgagee 
Was  bound  to  get  his  money  back,  and  pay  his  lawyer's  fee. 

A  humorist  of  wide  renown,  this  doughty  auctioneer, 
His  joking  raised  the  loud  guffaw,  and  brought  the  answering  jeer, 
He  scattered  round  his  jests,  like  rain,  on  the  unjust  and  the  just ; 
Sam  Sleeman  said  he  "  laffed  so  much  he  thought  that  he  would  bust." 

He  knocked  down  bureaus,  beds,  and  stoves,  and  clocks  and  chandeliers, 
And  a  grand  piano,  which  he  swore  would  "  last  a  thousand  years ;  " 
He  rattled  out  the  crockery,  and  sold  the  silverware  ; 
At  last  they  passed  him  up  to  sell  a  little  baby's  chair. 

"  How  much?  how  much?  Come,  make  a  bid;  is  all  your  money  spent?  " 

And  then  a  cheap,  facetious  wag  came  up  and  bid,  "  One  cent." 

Just  then  a  sad-faced  woman,  who  stood  in  silence  there, 

Broke  down  and  cried,  "  My  baby's  chair  !  My  poor,  dead  baby's  chair  !  " 

"  Here,  madam,  take  your  baby's  chair,"  said  the  softened  auctioneer. 
"  I  know  its  value  all  too  well,  my  baby  died  last  year ; 
And  if  the  owner  of  the  chair,  our  friend,  the  mortgagee, 
Object  to  this  proceeding,  let  him  send  the  bill  to  me  !  " 

Gone  was  the  tone  of  raillery ;  the  humorist  auctioneer 
Turned  shamefaced  from  his  audience  to  brush  away  a  tear ; 
The  laughing  crowd  was  awed  and  still,  no  tearless  eye  was  there 
When  the  weeping  woman  reached  and  took  her  little  baby's  chair. 


QUO  VADIS. 

BY    HENRYK    SIENKIEWICZ. 


ARRANGED  BY  SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Publishers.     Copyright  1896,  by  Jeremiah  Curtin.) 

INTRODUCTION. 

This  scene  is  laid  in  Rome  when  the  master  city  of  the  world  reveled 
in  luxury  and  vice ;  when  Christianity,  yet  in  its  infancy,  was  secretly 
spreading  to  the  very  heart  of  the  city.  Nero,  the  Emperor,  was  a 
pagan — fond  only  of  applause,  luxury  and  of  the  Amphitheatre  games — 
which  afforded  amusement  for  all  Rome.  Vinicius,  one  of  his  courtiers, 
and  a  magnificent  youth,  loved  Lygia,  a  beautiful  Christian  maiden. 
Gradually  the  purity  of  the  maiden's  life  wrought  a  change  upon  his 
profligate  soul,  and  when  he  knew  that  she  was  as  snow  upon  the  moun- 
tain tops  compared  with  the  women  of  Rome,  he  loved  her  the  more ; 
and  when  he  knew  that  she  was  what  she  was  through  her  religion,  he 
loved  and  desired  that  religion.  At  last  through  the  teaching  of  the 
Apostle  Peter,  who  was  as  a  father  to  Lygia,  Vinicius,  unknown  to  Nero, 
was  converted  to  the  Christian  religion.  Nero,  wearying  of  Rome,  ordered 
his  courtiers  to  Antium,  in  his  company.  Vinicius  feared  to  leave  Lygia 
behind,  but  to  disobey  Nero's  commands  would  mean  sudden  death. 

At  Antium,  Nero  and  his  court  led  a  life  of  intoxicating  pleasure 
and,  for  a  mere  whim,  Nero,  unknown  to  the  people  ordered  the  destruc- 
tion of  Rome.  One  night  as  they  sat  at  a  feast 


Nero's  freedman,  appeared  from  beyond  the  curtain.  "  Pardon,  divine 
Imperator,  there  is  a  conflagration  in  Rome  !  The  greater  part  of  the 
city  is  in  flames?" 

At  this  news  all  sprang  from  their  seats. 

"  Lord,  the  whole  city  is  one  sea  of  flame  ;  smoke  is  suffocating 
the  inhabitants,  and  people  faint,  or  cast  themselves  into  the  fire  from 


delirium.  Rome  is  perishing,  lord  !  "  Vinicius'  first  thought  was  of 
Lygia ;  casting  his  toga  aside,  he  rushed  forth  in  his  tunic,  and  springing 
on  his  horse,  he  dashed  along  the  empty  streets.  He  did  not  know- 
clearly  what  was  happening  in  his  mind ;  he  had  merely  the  feeling  that 
misfortune  was  on  the  horse  with  him,  sitting  behind  his  shoulders,  and 
shouting  in  his  ears,  "  Rome  is  burning  ! "  that  it  was  lashing  his  horse 
and  him,  urging  them  toward  the  fire.  A  horseman,  rushing  also  like  a 
whirlwind,  but  in  the  opposite  direction,  toward  Antium,  shouted  as  he 
raced  past,  "  Rome  is  perishing  !  "  and  on  he  went. 

After  a  time  Vinicius  rushed  at  full  speed  past  the  temple  of  Mer- 
cury, where  people  holding  torches  were  hastening  to  put  themselves 
under  protection  of  the  deity.  He  was  surrounded  by  shouts  of  "  Rome 
is  burning  !"  "  Rome  is  on  fire  !  "  "  May  the  gods  rescue  Rome  !  " 

"  What  part  of  the  city  is  on  fire?  " 

"Who  art  thou?"  "Vinicius,  a  tribune  of  the  army,  an  Augustian. 
Answer  on  thy  head  !  " 

"  The  fire  broke  out  in  the  shops  near  the  Circus  Maximus ;  it  is 
seizing  new  parts  every  moment  with  a  force  which  nothing  can  stop. 
People  are  perishing  from  heat  and  smoke  ;  all  rescue  is  impossible." 
The  young  tribune  rushed  on.  The  road  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 
"  From  the  top  I  shall  see  the  flames,"  said  he  ;  and  he  began  to  lash 
his  horse  anew.  But  before  he  had  reached  the  top  of  the  mountain  he 
felt  the  wind  on  his  face,  and  with  it  came  the  odor  of  smoke  to  his  nos- 
trils. At  the  same  time  the  summit  of  the  height  was  becoming  gilded. 

The  fire  !  thought  Vinicius.  He  touched  the  summit  at  last.  The 
whole  lower  region  was  covered  with  smoke,  forming  as  it  were  one 
gigantic  cloud  lying  close  to  the  earth.  In  this  cloud  towns,  aqueducts,, 
villas,  trees,  disappeared  ;  but  beyond  this  gray  ghastly  plain  the  city  was, 
burning  on  the  hills. 

To  Vinicius  it  seemed  at  the  first  glance  of  the  eye  that  not  only  the 
city  was  burning,  but  the  whole  world,  and  that  no  living  being  could 
save  itself  from  that  ocean  of  flame  and  smoke.  Despair  seized  Vini- 
cius anew,  he  raised  his  head  suddenly,  and  stretching  his  arms  toward 
the  sky  filled  with  stars,  began  to  pray.  "  Not  to  you  do  I  call  whose 
temples  are  burning,  but  to  Thee  !  Thou  Thyself  hast  suffered.  Thou 
alone  art  merciful !  Thou  alone  hast  understood  people's  pain  ;  Thou 
didst  come  to  this  world  to  teach  pity  to  mankind  ;  then  show  it  now. 
If  Thou  art  what  Peter  and  Paul  declare,  save  for  me  Lygia,  take  her  in 
Thy  arms,  bear  her  out  of  the  flames.  Thou  hast  the  power  to  do  that  t 


136 

Give  her  to  me,  and  I  will  give  Thee  my  blood.  But  if  Thou  art  unwil- 
ling to  do  this  for  me,  do  it  for  her.  She  loves  Thee  and  trusts  in  Thee. 
Thou  dost  promise  life  and  happiness  after  death,  but  happiness  after 
death  will  not  pass  away,  and  she  does  not  wish  to  die  yet.  Let  her 
live.  Take  her  in  Thy  arms,  bear  her  out  of  Rome." 

Vinicius  approached  the  walls.  Gladiators,  drunk  with  wine,  gath- 
ered in  crowds,  ran  with  wild  shouts  through  the  neighboring  squares, 
scattering,  trampling,  and  robbing  the  people.  A  multitude  of  barbarians, 
exposed  for  sale  in  the  city,  escaped  from  the  booths.  For  them  the 
burning  and  ruin  of  Rome  was  at  once  the  end  of  slavery  and  the  hour  of 
revenge  ;  so  that  when  the  inhabitants  stretched  their  hands  to  the  gods 
in  despair,  calling  for  rescue,  these  slaves  with  howls  of  delight  scattered 
the  crowds,  dragged  clothing  from  people's  backs,  and  bore  away  the 
younger  women. 

Above  this  heaving,  mad  human  multitude  roared  the  fire,  surging  up 
to  the  hill-tops  of  the  greatest  city  on  earth,  sending  into  the  whirling 
throng  its  fiery  breath,  and  covering  it  with  smoke,  through  which  it  was 
impossible  to  see  the  blue  sky.  The  heat  was  growing  unendurable. 
When  he  saw  through  the  smoky  curtain  the  cypresses  in  Linus's  garden, 
Vinicius  glanced  heavenward  with  thankfulness  and  sprang  toward  the 
house.  The  door  was  closed,  "  Lygia  !  Lygia  !  "  Silence  answered  him. 
Nothing  could  be  heard  in  the  stillness  there  save  the  roar  of  the  distant 
fire.  "  Lygia  !  "  Lygia  did  not  answer  his  calls.  "Then  she  must  have 
escaped  !  "•  —  Vinicius  rushed  to  the  street;  the  fire  seemed  to  pursue  him 
with  burning  breath,  now  surrounding  him  with  fresh  clouds  of  smoke, 
now  covering  him  with  sparks,  which  fell  on  his  hair,  neck,  and  clothing. 
He  had  the  taste  of  soot  and  burning  in  his  mouth ;  his  throat  and  lungs 
were  as  if  on  fire.  The  blood  rushed  to  his  head,  and  at  moments  even 
the  smoke  itself,  seemed  red  to  him.  Consciousness  was  leaving  him;  he 
remembered  only  that  he  must  flee,  for  in  the  open  field  beyond  waited 
Lygia.  And  all  at  once  he  was  seized  by  a  certain  wonderful  conviction, 
that  he  must  see  her,  marry  her,  and  then  die.  He  ran  on,  staggering 
from  one  side  of  the  street  to  the  other.  It  grew  redder  still  in  his  eyes, 
breath  failed  his  lungs,  strength  failed  his  bones;  he  fell.  The  city 
burned  on.  When  he  awoke  to  consciousness,  Peter  was  bending  over 
him.  He  asked  if  Lygia  were  safe.  Peter  answered  "  yes  !  "  but  said 
that  after  the  burning  of  Rome,  Nero,  in  order  to  turn  suspicion  from 
himself,  accused  the  Christians  of  the  conflagration,  and,  for  this  crime, 
they  had  been  put  to  horrible  tortures  in  the  arena. Among  the 


rest  of  the  Christians,  Lygia  had  been  cast  into  prison,  where  she  awaited, 
she  knew  not  what  terrible  death. 


The  cry,  "  Christians  to  the  lions  !  "  was  heard  increasingly  in  every 
part  of  the  city. 

When  the  news  went  forth  that  the  end  of  the  games  was  approach- 
ing, and  that  the  last  of  the  Christians  were  to  die  at  an  evening  spectacle, 
a  countless  audience  assembled  in  the  amphitheatre.  The  sight  was,  in 
truth,  magnificent.  The  lower  seats,  crowded  with  togas,  were  as  white 
as  snow.  In  the  gilded  podium  sat  Nero,  wearing  a  diamond  collar  and  a 
golden  crown  on  his  head ;  and  on  both  sides  were  great  officials,  senators 
with  embroidered  togas,  officers  of  the  army  with  glittering  weapons — in 
a  word,  all  that  was  powerful,  brilliant,  and  wealthy  in  Rome.  Uncer- 
tainty, waiting,  and  curiosity  had  mastered  all  spectators.  For  it  had 
been  noised  about  that  Nero  had  reserved  the  sacrifice  of  the  beautiful 
Christian  maiden  Lygia  as  the  crowning  spectacle  of  the  games. 

Every  eye  was  turned  with  strained  gaze  to  the  place  where  the 
unfortunate  lover  was  sitting.  He  was  in  as  much  doubt  as  were  the 
other  spectators,  but  alarmed  to  the  lowest  depth  of  his  soul.  Despair 
began  again  to  cry  in  his  soul.  He  had  the  feeling  that  if  he  should  see 
Lygia  tortured,  his  love  for  God  would  be  turned  to  hatred,  and  his  faith 
to  despair.  But  he  was  amazed  at  the  feeling,  for  he  feared  to  offend 
Christ,  whom  he  was  imploring  for  mercy  and  miracles.  He  implored  no 
longer  for  her  life ;  he  wished  merely  that  she  should  die  before  they 
brought  her  to  the  arena,  and  from  the  abyss  of  his  pain  he  repeated  in 
spirit :  "  Do  not  refuse  even  this,  and  I  will  love  Thee  still  more  than 
hitherto."  And  then  his  thoughts  raged  as  a  sea  torn  by  a  whirlwind. 
To  his  head  flew  at  times  flashes  of  hope  that  everything  would  be  turned 
aside  by  an  almighty  and  merciful  hand.  Finally,  did  he  grasp  with  both 
hands  at  the  thought  that  faith  of  itself  could  save  her.  Hence  he 
rallied,  he  crushed  doubt  in  himself,  he  compressed  his  whole  being  into 
the  sentence,  "  I  believe,"  and  he  looked  for  a  miracle.  But  his  weak- 
ness did  not  last  long.  At  that  very  instant,  the  prefect  of  the  city  waved 
a  red  handkerchief,  the  hinges  opposite  Nero's  podium  creaked,  and  out 
of  the  dark  gully  came  Lygia's  devoted  slave  into  the  brightly  lighted 
arena. 

The  giant  blinked,  dazed  evidently  by  the  glitter  of  the  arena ;  then 
he  pushed  into  the  centre,  gazing  around  as  if  to  see  what  he  had  to 
meet.  At  sight  of  him  a  murmur  passed  along  every  bench.  People 


138 

gazed  with  the  delight  of  experts  at  his  mighty  limbs  as  large  as  tree- 
trunks,  at  his  breast  as  large  as  two  shields  joined  together,  and  his  arms 
of  a  Hercules.  The  murmur  rose  to  shouts,  and  eager  questions  were 
put :  "  Where  do  the  people  live  who  can  produce  such  a  giant?  " 

He  stood  there,  in  the  middle  of  the  amphitheatre,  naked,  more  like 
a  stone  colossus  than  a  man,  he  gazed  wonderingly  at  the  spectators,  now 
at  Nero.  Then  he  knelt  on  the  arena,  joined  his  hands,  and  raised  his 
eyes  toward  the  stars  which  were  glittering  in  the  lofty  opening  of  the 
amphitheatre.  Suddenly  the  shrill  sound  of  brazen  trumpets  was  heard, 
and  at  that  signal  a  grating  opposite  Nero's  podium  was  opened,  and  into 
the  arena  rushed,  amid  shouts,  an  enormous  German  aurochs,  bearing  on 
his  head  the  naked  body  of  a  woman. 

"  Lygia  !  Lygia  !  "  cried  Vinicius. 

Then  he    began   to    repeat   in    hoarse    accents, "  I    believe  !  I 

believe  !     O  Christ,  a  miracle  !  " 

The  amphitheatre  was  silent.  The  Augustians  rose  in  their  places,  as 
one  man,  for  in  the  arena  something  uncommon  had  happened.  That 
giant,  when  he  saw  his  queen  on  the  horns  of  the  wild  beast,  sprang  up, 
as  if  touched  by  living  fire,  and  bending  forward,  he  ran  at  the  raging 
animal.  A  sudden  cry  of  amazement  was  heard,  the  giant  fell  on  the 
raging  bull,  and  seized  him  by  the  horns.  All  breasts  ceased  to  breathe. 
The  man's  feet  sank  in  the  sand  to  his  ankles,  his  back  was  bent  like  a 
drawn  bow,  his  head  was  hidden  between  his  shoulders,  on  his  arms  the 
muscles  came  out  so  that  the  skin  almost  burst  from  their  pressure ;  the 
man  and  the  beast  remained  still.  But  in  that  apparent  repose  there  was 
a  tremendous  exertion  of  two  struggling  forces.  The  bull  sank  his  feet  as 
did  the  man  in  the  sand,  and  his  dark,  shaggy  body  was  curved  so  that  it 
seemed  a  gigantic  ball.  Which  of  the  two  would  fall  first?  In  the  Circus 
nothing  was  heard  save  the  sound  of  flame  in  the  lamps,  and  the  crackle 
of  bits  of  coal  as  they  dropped  from  the  torches.  People  thought  them- 
selves dreaming  till  the  enormous  head  of  the  bull  began  to  turn  in  the 
iron  hands  of  the  giant.  Duller  and  duller,  hoarser  and  hoarser,  more 
and  more  painful  grew  the  groan  of  the  bull  as  it  mingled  with  the  whist- 
ling breath  from  the  breast  of  the  giant.  The  head  of  the  beast  turned 
more  and  more,  a  moment,  and  to  the  ears  of  the  spectators  came  the 
crack  of  breaking  bones  ;  then  the  beast  rolled  on  the  earth  with  his  neck 
twisted  in  death.  The  giant  removed  the  ropes  from  the  horns  of  the 
bull,  and,  raising  the  maiden  in  his  arms,  he  stood  as  if  only  half  con- 
scious ;  then  he  looked  at  the  spectators.  The  Amphitheatre  had  gone 
wild.  The  walls  of  the  building  were  trembling  from  the  roar  of  tens  of 


thousands  of  people.  He  approached  Nero's  podium,  and,  holding  the 
body  of  the  maiden  on  his  outstretched  arms,  raised  his  eyes  with  en- 
treaty, as  if  to  say, —  "  Have  mercy  on  her  !  Save  the  maiden.  I  did  that 
for  her  sake  !  "  Pity  burst  forth  suddenly  like  a  flame.  They  had  had 
blood,  death,  and  torture  in  sufficiency.  Voices  choked  with  tears  began  to 
entreat  mercy  for  both.  Now  Vinicius  started  up,  sprang  over  the  barrier 
into  the  arena,  and  running  to  Lygia,  covered  her  naked  body  with  his 
toga.  Then  he  tore  apart  the  tunic  on  his  breast,  laid  bare  the  scars  left 
by  the  wounds  received  in  war,  and  stretched  out  his  hands  to  the  audience. 
At  this  the  enthusiasm  of  the  multitude  passed  everything  seen  in  a  circus 
before.  The  crowd  stamped  and  howled.  Voices  called  for  mercy. 
People  rose  in  defence  of  the  soldier,  the  maiden,  their  love.  Thousands 
of  spectators  turned  to  Nero  with  flashes  of  anger  in  their  eyes  and  with 
clinched  fists. 

But  Nero  halted  and  hesitated.  He  gazed  around  to  see  if  among 
the  Augustians,  at  least,  he  could  not  find  fingers  turned  down  in 
sign  of  death.  His  glance  rested  on  the  Apostle  Peter ;  those  two  men 
looked  at  each  other.  It  occurred  to  no  one  in  that  brilliant  retinue  and 
to  no  one  in  that  immense  throng,  that  at  that  moment  two  powers  of  the 
earth  were  looking  at  each  other,  one  of  which  would  vanish  quickly  as  a 
bloody  dream,  and  the  other,  dressed  in  simple  garments,  would  seize  in 
eternal  possession  the  world  and  the  city. 

Now  rage  began  to  possess  the  multitude.  Dust  rose  from  beneath 
the  stamping  feet,  and  filled  the  amphitheatre.  In  the  midst  of  shouts 
were  heard  cries  :  "  Incendiary  !  incendiary  !  "  Nero  was  alarmed.  He 
looked  once  more  at  the  centurion,  at  the  soldiers ;  and  seeing  every- 
where frowning  brows,  excited  faces  and  eyes  fixed  ^on  him,  —  he  gave 
the  sign  for  mercy. 

Then  a  thunder  of  applause  was  heard  from  the  highest  seats  to  the 
lowest.  And  Vinicius,  raising  his  hands  to  Heaven,  cried,  "A  miracle,  a 
miracle,  I  believe  !  I  believe  !  " 


140 


SUNDAY   THIEVES. 

BY   J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE. 
An  adaptation  from  "  Neighbor's  Wives.' 


ARRANGED  BY  EMMA  AUGUSTA  GREELY. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Shepard,  Publishers.) 

A  still,  September  day,  with  the  peculiar  sentiment  of  the  Sabbath 
breathing  in  the  air,  and  filling  all  the  silent  rooms  of  the  house  with  its 
cool  hush.  The  bells  have  ceased  ringing ;  but  Prudence  is  at  home.  In 
the  morning  she  can  usually  endure  a  sermon  of  reasonable  length ;  but  in 
the  afternoon  it  is  impossible  for  her  to  avoid  the  sin  of  drowsiness.  And 
it  is  so  mortifying  to  the  sensitive  John  to  have  to  keep  waking  her  up,  that 
she  has  wisely  resolved  to  spend  her  Sunday  afternoons  at  home.  She 
reads  a  little,  sleeps  a  good  deal,  and  then,  with  a  basket  on  her  arm,  she 
visits  the  garden  for  vegetables.  She  is  sorry  the  tomatoes  are  poor  and 
puny.  She  is  fond  of  tomatoes,  and  involuntarily  looks  over  the  fence 
into  Abel  Dane's  garden,  where  there  are  bushels  of  nice,  ripe  ones. 
"  Now,  old  Mis'  Dane,  and  Abel,  too,  for  that  matter,  hed  just  as  lives 
we'd  have  some  of  them  tomatuses  as  not.  It's  a  pity  to  see  'em  wasted. 
They  look  to  me  to  be  a-rottin'  on  the  ground.  Anyway,  frost'll  come 
and  finish  'em  'fore  their  folks  can  ever  use  'em  up.  I've  a  good  notion 
jest  to  step  over  and  pick  a  few.  They  never'd  know  it;  and  John'll 
think  they  come  off  m  our  own  vines." 

Up  and  down  and  all  around  she  looks,  and  sees  no  eye  beholding 
her. 

"  They've  all  gone  to  meeting.  Only  a  few  tomatuses.  What's  the 
harm  I'd  like  to  know?  I'm  sure  I'd  ruther  any  one  would  have  MY 
tomatuses  than  leave  e'm  to  rot  on  the  ground.  I  WILL  just  step  over  and 
take  two  or  three." 

"Stepping  over"  was  a  rather  light  and  airy  way  of  expressing  it. 
Did  you  ever  see  a  large  woman  climb  a  fence,  and  didn't  laugh?  Cau- 
tiously feeling  the  boards  till  she  finds  one  she  has  confidence  in ;  hugging 


the  post  affectionately ;  putting  her  elbows  over  the  topmost  board,  and 
finally  getting  one  foot  over ;  then  turning  round,  as  she  brings  up  the 
other  foot;  then  getting  down  backwards,  very  much  as  she  got  up, — all 
this  is  in  the  program.  Prudence  is  not  nearly  so  spry  as  a  cat ;  but  give 
her  time,  and  she  is  good  for  any  common  board  fence,  providing  nobody 
is  looking.  At  last  the  feat  is  accomplished,  and  she  treads  carefully 
among  the  tomatoes. 

Although  purposing  to  pick  only  a  few,  they  are  so  large  and  so 
plenty  that  she  fills  her  basket  almost  before  she  knows  it.  Then,  it  is 
"SICH  a  pity  to  see  'em  wasted,"  she  thinks  she  will  put  two  or  three  in 
her  apron.  Stooping,  with  broad  back  to  the  golden  sunshine  and  blue 
Sabbath  sky ;  holding  up  her  apron  with  one  hand,  and  loading  it  with  the 
other,  she  is  peering  among  the  vines,  when  suddenly  she  is  startled  by  a 
harsh  growl.  In  great  fright  she  looks  up  and  sees  Turk  bristling  at  her. 

"  Massy  sakes  !  why,  Turk  !  don't  you  know  me?  Dear  me  !  You 
never  acted  so  before,  Turk  !  You  never  barked  at  ME  !  Come  doggy  ! 
poor  fellow  !  poor  fellow  !  " 

She  reaches  out  her  hand  coaxingly,  and  the  brute  snaps  at  it.  Then 
the  soul  of  the  woman  grows  sick  within  her,  and  her  knees  shake.  Right 
before  her  stands  the  red-eyed  snarling  monster, — between  her  and  her 
basket ;  and  what  shall  she  do  ! 

"  Turk,  it's  ME,  Turk  !  your  old  friend,  doggy  ! '' 

He  won't  dare  to  bite  her,  she  thinks.  And  if  she  dies  for  it,  she 
must  get  out  of  the  garden  before  the  folks  come  from  meeting.  She 
makes  a  charge  at  her  basket.  Turk  meets  her  with  a  terrific  leap  and 
snarl,  and  seizes  her  apron  with  his  teeth.  Involuntarily  screaming,  she 
retreats.  She  clings  to  the  apron  with  her  hands,  he  with  his  jaws.  She 
pulls  one  way,  he  tugs  the  other.  The  string  breaks.  Prudence  loses  her 
hold  of  the  apron,  and  falls  in  the  entangling  tomato-vines. 

"  I  never,  never  !  Oh,  dear,  dear  !  What  SHALL  I  do  !  what  SHALL 
I  do?" 

Turk  seats  himself  beside  her,  with  his  fore  paws  on  her  dress,  and 
his  red  tongue,  white  teeth,  hot  breath,  and  ferocious  eyes  close  to  her 
face. 

A  sad  predicament  for  a  respectable  woman,  isn't  it?  Oh,  what 
would  she  give  if  she  had  only  stayed  in  her  own  garden,  and  never  cast 
covetous  eyes  at  her  neighbor's?  If  she  only  had  her  apron  and  basket 
safe  and  empty  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  would  she  ever,  ever  do  such 
a  thing  again?  Never,  never  ! 

The  meetings  are  out ;  the  wagons  have  begun  to  go  by,  and  now  the 


142 

feet  of  scattered  pedestrians  clatter  along  the  wooden  village  sidewalks. 
Among  those  who  walk  is  Prudence's  husband,  the  meek  John  Apjohn, 
choking  in  his  Sunday  cravat.  He  passes  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the 
crushed  tomatoes  but  does  not  dream  that  his  wife  is  so  near. 

And  now  Prudence  can  hear  the  familiar  sound  of  her  own  gate 
slammed.  John  has  got  home. 

"  To  be  sure,  Prudy  ! "  begins  the  cooper  as  he  enters  the  house, 
carefully  giving  his  black  hat  a  final  polish  with  his  red  silk  handkerchief 
before  putting  it  away  for  the  week.  "  Them  was  two  dreadful  good  ser- 
mons to-day.  Desperate  smart  man,  old  Mr.  Hardwell,  —  as  feeling  a 
preacher  as  ever  I  sot  under.  You  should  have  heard  him  dwell  upon  the 
vanities  of  this  world  this  afternoon  !  All  our  pride  and  selfishness,  and 
what  we  call  the  good  things  of  life,  where'll  they  all  be  in  a  few  years? 
You  ought  to  have  heard  him,  Prudy ;  to  be  sure  !  Why,  where  be  you, 
Prudy?—  Prudy—  Prudy  !  " 

But  there  is  no  Prudence  in  the  house,  no  Prudence  in  the  garden. 
"  Prudence  !  "  he  calls. 

What  is  that?     A  faint,  far-off,  stifled  scream. 

"  John  !  John  !  help  !  " 

The  voice  sounds  as  if -it  were  in  the  well.  Prudence  in  the  well! 
In  an  instant  the  cooper's  vivid  fancy  pictures  that  excellent  and  large- 
sized  woman  fallen  into  the  deep  and  narrow  cavity.  He  is  at  the  curb  in 
a  second,  when — behind  him,  he  hears,  "John  !  come  quick  !" 

"Where  be  ye?  and  what's  the  matter?" 

"  Here  I  am,  and  you'll  see  what's  the  matter.  Don't  make  no 
noise,  but  come  as  quick  as  you  can,  and  get  away  this  horrid  dog  !  " 

Then  John  Apjohn,  rushing  to  the  fence,  sees  the  prostrate  woman, 
and  sedentary  dog,  and  the  guilty  tomatoes.  He  clings  to  the  fence  un- 
able to  utter  a  word. 

"Quick,  I  say  ! "  cries  Prudence.  "  Take  off  this  dog,  and  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it  by'm'by." 

Over  the  fence  tumbles  the  astonished  cooper.  Turk  glares  and 
growls  and  snaps  at  the  little  man  as  if  he  would  swallow  him. 

"  I  can't,  Prudy  !  " 

"  Ketch  right  hold  of  him  !     Choke  him  !  " 

"  I  da'sn't !  " 

"  If  I  had  a  man  for  a  husband  ! — Git  a  club  !     Kill  the  brute  !  " 

"  To  be  sure  !  to  be  sure  !  "  and  John  starts  to  find  a  club.  There 
is  a  pole  leaning  on  an  apple-tree  near  by.  He  secures  it  and  the  com- 
bat begins,  with  John  at  one  end  of  the  pole  and  Turk  at  the  other. 


143 

Turk  seizes  his  end  with  his  teeth ;  John  holds  his  in  his  hands.  Turk 
growls  to  make  John  let  go ;  John  SHOOES  and  STEBOYS  to  make  Turk  let 
go. 

"  Pull  it  away  from  him  !"  exclaims  Prudence. 

John  pulls  until  the  sagacious  dog  suddenly  releases  his  grip,  and 
leaves  the  pole  with  the  cooper,  who  loses  his  balance,  staggers  backward 
rapidly,  and  sits  down  in  an  over-ripe  muskmelon. 

"  Take  the  pole  and  knock  him  on  the  head  with  it,  hard  ! " 

Up  goes  the  pole,  unsteadily  and  slow. 

"  Ready?"  says  John. 

"  Yes ;  strike  !  " 

And  down  comes  the  heavy,  unwieldy  weapon.  Turk  sees  it  descend- 
ing and  is  out  of  the  way  before  the  radius  has  passed  through  one  half 
the  arc ;  but  it  is  impossible  for  the  cooper  to  stay  his  hold  ;  and  the  blow 
falls  upon  Mrs.  Apjohn. 

"  Now  I've  killed  ye  !" 

"Don't  ye  know  no  better'n  to  be  murderin'  me  'stid  of  the  dog  !" 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  !" 

"  Empty  out  them  tomatuses,  and  throw  the  basket  over  the  fence, 
anyway." 

"How  come  the  tomatuses  in  your  basket?     O  Prudy,  Prudy  !  " 

"Wai!  I  s'pose  I'm  to  lay  here  till  doomsday,  or  till  Abel's  folks 
come  home.  There  they  come  now,  —  don't  they?" 

"Yes,  they're  late.     I'll  call  Abel  to  come  and  call  off  his  dog." 

"  Don't  ye  for  the  world  !  Sit  right  down ;  mabby  they  wont  see 
us!" 

"What !  ye  don't  re'ly  mean  to  say  you  —  you've  been — hooking  the 
tomatuses?  " 

"  Sit  down,  I  say  !  "  and  John  sits,  hugging  his  knees,  with  his  chin 
between  them.  He  feels  like  a  thief ;  he  knows  he  looks  like  a  thief. 
And  there  the  three  wait — Turk  guarding  his  prisoners. 

"  Prudy  !  "  whispers  John. 

"  What !  " 

"  It's  dreadful  !  it's  dreadful  !  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  " 

"  Prudy  !  " 

"  What  do  you  want  now?  " 

"  I  wish  you'd  gone  to  meetin'  this  arternoon  Prudy  !  " 

"  You  can't  wish  so  any  more'n  I  do  !  " 

"  If  you'd  only  heard  that  sermon  Prudy?  " 


144 

"  Stop  your  talk  about  the  sermon  !  "• 

"  Prudy  !  " 

"Well!  what?" 

"  I  wish  I  was  dead  ! — don't  you?  " 

"  I  wish  this  dog  was  dead  !  " 

Upon  which,  to  convince  them  that  he  is  not,  nor  anything  like  it, 
Turk  begins  to  bark. 

"  It's  all  over  now  !  " 

John  feels  that  he  can  never  confront  Abel  Dane  after  this,  but  before 
he  had  time  to  consider  what  to  do,  he  hears  a  step  in  the  grass.  He 
twists  his  neck  around  on  his  shoulders,  as  he  crouches,  softly  turns  up  his 
timid  glance  over  the  cabbages,  and  beholds  the  dreaded  visage  of  Abel 
Dane. 

"Come  here,  Turk  !"  says  the  severe  voice  of  Abel. 

Cooper  John,  having  once  turned  round  his  head  softly  turns  it  back 
again,  and  sits  still. 

Prudence  gathers  herself  up  as  soon  as  Turk  permits,  and  begins  hur- 
riedly to  shake  and  brush  her  gown. 

"  Wai !  Abel  Dane,  this  is  a  pooty  sight  for  Sunday,  I  s'pose  you 
think  !  And  so  it  is  !  And  I  want  to  know,  now,  if  you  think  it's  neigh- 
borly to  keep  a  brute  like  that,  to  tear  folks  to  pieces  that  jest  set  a  foot 
on  your  premises?  For  here  he's  kep'  me  groanin'  on  my  back  an  hour, 
if  he  has  a  minute.  John  Apjohn  !  what  are  ye  shirkin'  there  for?  " 

"  I  am  sorry,"  says  Abel,  "if  my  dog  has  put  you  to  any  inconven- 
ience. He  didn't  bite  you,  I  hope  !  " 

"  No  !  well  for  him  !  The  fact  is  jest  this,  Abel  Dane,  if  you  begrutch 
me  a  few  tomatuses,  it's  what  your  father  never  done  before  ye,  and  I 
never  expected  it  of  you  :  and  I'll  cheerfully  pay  you  for  'em,  if  you'll 
accept  of  any  pay ;  and  my  husband  here  knows  I  only  jest  stepped  over 
the  fence  to  save  a  few  that  was  bein'  wasted,  which  I  thought  was  sech  a 
pity,  and  you'd  jest  as  lives  we'd  have  'em ;  and  I  meant  all  the  time  to 
tell  ye  I  took  some,  when  that  plaguy  dog  !  "— 

Here,  having  poured  forth  these  words  in  a  wild  and  agitated  manner, 
the  woman  broke  down,  and  wept  and  sobbed,  and  continued  confusedly 
to  brush  her  gown. 

"Well,  well,  neighbors,  you're  quite  welcome  to  the  tomatoes.  I 
haven't  known  what  I  should  do  with  'em  all,  and  I'm  glad  to  get  rid  of 
'em.  But  whenever  you  want  any  more  tomatoes,  Mrs.  Apjohn,  you've 
only  to  come  in  through  the  GATE,  and  Turk  will  never  molest  you." 


THE    MOURNING    VEIL. 

ADAPTED    FROM    A    STORY    BY    J.    L.    HARBOUR, 


(From  the  Youth's  Companion,  by  permission  of  the  Author.) 

A  wide,  uncovered  piazza  ran  along  the  front  of  the  Stoner  house, 
and  there  two  little  girls,  children  of  a  neighbor  who  had  no  piazza,  were 
playing  "  keep  house."  They  had  their  dolls,  dishes  and  other  play- 
things strewn  about,  but  were  beginning  to  lose  interest  in  housekeeping 
and  "  going  visiting."  Suddenly  the  younger  of  them  said: 

"  I'll  tell  you  what — let's  play  funeral," 

"How?" 

"  Well,  we  can  play  that  my  Josephine  Maude  Angelina  dolly  died, 
and  that  we  buried  her." 

"That  will  be  splendid  !     Let's  have  her  die  right  off." 

Immediately  after  the  death  of  Josephine  Maude  Angelina  her  grief- 
stricken  mother  said  : 

"  Now,  Katie,  we  must  put  crape  on  the  door-knob  to  let  folks  know 
about  it.  You  run  over  to  the  house  and  get  mamma's  long  black  veil." 

"It  ought  to  be  white  for  a  dolly,  oughtn't  it?"   (asked  Katie). 

"  I  guess  you  forget  that  Josephine  Maude  was  a  married  doll,  and  a 
widow  at  that,  don't  you?"  (asked  Dorothy,  a  little  tartly).  "You 
remember  how  Teddy  Davis's  horrid  dog  chewed  poor  Josephine's- 
husband  up." 

Katie  went  away,  and  returned  soon  with  a  long  black  mourning  veil. 
It  was  quickly  tied  to  Mrs.  Stoner's  front  door-bell  knob ;  then  the  bereft 
Dorothy's  grief  broke  out  afresh,  and  she  wailed  and  wept  so  vigorously 
that  Mrs.  Stoner  put  her  head  out  of  an  upper  window  and  said  : 

"  You  little  girls  are  making  too  much  noise  down  there.  Mr. 
Stoner's  sick,  and  you  disturb  him.  I  think  you'd  better  run  home  and 
play  now.  My  husband  wants  to  go  to  sleep." 

"  How  unfeeling  ! "  (  said  Dorothy,  snatching  up  the  dead  doll  and 
her  other  playthings  ).  They  departed,  quite  forgetting  to  take  the  veil 
off  the  door-knob. 


146 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  Maria  Simmons  came  down  the  street,  and 
suddenly  stopped  in  front  of  the  Stoner  house. 

"  My  sakes  alive  !  If  there  ain't  crape  on  the  Stoners'  door-knob  ! 
Poor  S  im  Stoner  !  I  knew  he  was  sick,  but  I'd  no  idea  he  was  at  all 
dangerous.  I  must  stop  on  my  way  home  and  find  out  about  it." 

She  would  have  stopped  then  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  eagerness  to 
carry  the  news  to  those  who  might  not  have  heard  of  it.  A  little  farther 
on,  she  met  an  acquaintance. 

"Ain't  heard  'bout  the  trouble  up  at  the  Stoners,  have  you?" 

"What  trouble?" 

"  Sam  Stoner  is  dead.  There's  crape  on  the  door-knob.  I  was  in 
there  yesterday,  and  Sam  was  up  and  'round  the  house ;  but  I  could  see 
that  he  was  a  good  deal  sicker  than  he  or  his  wife  had  any  idea  of,  and 
I  ain't  much  s'prised." 

"  My  goodness  me  !     I  must  find  time  to  call  there  before  night." 

Mrs.  Simmons  stopped  at  the  village  post-office,  ostensibly  to  ask 
for  a  letter,  but  really  to  impart  her  information  to  Uncle  Dan  Wales,  the 
talkative  old  postmaster. 

"Heard  'bout  Sam  Stoner?" 

"No.     I  did  hear  he  was  gruntin'  'round  a  little,  but — " 

"He  won't  grunt  no  more,"  (said  Mrs.  Simmons  solemnly). 
"He's  dead." 

"  How  you  talk  !  " 

•"  It's  so.     There's  crape  on  the  door." 

*'  Must  have  been  dreadful  sudden  !  Mis'  Stoner  was  in  here  last 
evening  an'  she  reckoned  he'd  be  out  in  a  day  or  two  well  as  ever." 

"  I  know.  But  he  ain't  been  well  for  a  long  time.  I  could  see  it  if 
others  couldn't." 

The  news  was  spreading  now  from  another  source,  and  in  a  way  that 
caused  those  who  heard  it  to  declare  that  it  was  "  perfectly  scand'lous  " 
for  Mrs.  Stoner  to  "  carry  on  so." 

Job  Higley,  the  grocer's  delivery  man,  returned  from  leaving  some 
things  at  the  Stoner  house,  full  of  indignation. 

"That  Mis' Stoner  ain't  no  more  feelin'  than  a  lamp-post,"  (said 
Job  indignantly  ).  There's  crape  on  the  door-knob  for  poor  Sam  Stoner, 
an'  when  I  left  the  groceries  Mis'  Stoner  was  fryin'  doughnuts  cool  as  a 
cowcumber  an'  singin'  '  Way  down  upon  the  Swanee  River '  loud  as  she 
could  screech,  an'  when  I  said  I  was  sorry  'bout  Sam  she  just  laughed  an' 
said  she  'guessed  Sam  was  all  right,'  an'  then  if  she  didn't  go  to  jukin* 
me  'bout  Tildy  Hopkins  !  " 


147 

Old  Mrs.  Peevy  came  home  with  an  equally  scandalous  tale. 

"  I  went  right  over  to  the  Stoners  soon  as  I  heard  'bout  poor  Sam," 
she  said,  "an"  if  you'll  b'lieve  me,  there  was  Mis'  Stoner  hangin'  out 
clothes  in  the  back  yard.  I  went  right  'round  to  where  she  was  an'  she 
says  jest  as  flippant,  'Mercy!  Mis'  Peevy,  where'd  you  drop  down 
from?"' 

"  I  felt  so  s'prised  an'  disgusted  that  I  says,  '  Mis'  Stoner,  this  is  a 
mighty  solemn  thing,'  an1  if  she  didn't  just  look  at  me  an'  laugh,  with  the 
crape  for  poor  Sam  danglin'  from  the  front  door-bell  knob ;  an'  she  says, 
<  I  don't  see  nothin'  very  solemn  'bout  washin'  an'  hangin'  out  some  o' 
Sam's  old  shirts  an'  underwear  that  he'll  never  wear  agin.  I'm  goin"  to 
work  'em  up  into  carpet-rags  if  they  ain't  too  fur  gone  fur  even  that.'  " 

"  '  Mis  Stoner',  I  says,  '  the  neighbors  will  talk  dreadfully  if  you  ain't 
more  careful,'  an'  she  got  real  angry  and  said  if  the  neighbors  would 
attend  to  their  business  she'd  attend  to  hers.  I  turned  and  left  without 
even  going  into  the  house." 

The  Carbury  Weekly  Star  came  out  two  hours  later  with  this  announce- 
ment : 

"  We  stop  our  press  to  announce  the  unexpected  demise  of  our  highly 
respected  fellow-citizen,  Mr.  Samuel  Stoner,  this  afternoon.  A  more 
extended  notice  will  appear  next  week." 

"  Unexpected  !  I  should  say  so  ! "  said  Mr.  Samuel  Stoner,  as  he 
read  this  announcement  in  the  paper.  '"A  more  extended  notice  next 
week?"  I'll  write  that  notice  myself,  I'll  extend  it  far  enough  to  let  that 
editor  know  what  I  think  of  him." 

"But  how  did  this  crape  get  on  the  front  door?"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Stoner.  "  I  found  it  there  when  1  went  out  to  get  the  paper.  It  is  the 
strangest  thing,  and  I — there's  the  minister  coming  in  the  gate  !  Do 
calm  down,  Sam  !  He's  coming  to  make  arrangements  for  the  funeral, 
I  suppose." 

Mr.  Havens,  the  minister,  was  surprised  when  Mr.  Stoner  himself 
opened  the  door  and  said  : 

"Come  right  in,  pastor;  come  right  in.  My  wife's  busy,  but  if  you 
want  to  go  ahead  with  the  funeral,  I'll  give  you  the  main  points  myself." 


148 


A  MEETING  OF  ROYALTY. 


BY    MARGARET    DODGE. 


(Copyright,  1895,  by  the  Shortstory  Publishing  Company,  Publishers  of  "  The  Black  Cat."     Printed  by 

Permission.) 

It  was  not  according  to  the  schedule  that  the  special  train,  consisting 
of  a  locomotive,  an  empty  baggage  car,  and  regally  equipped  private  car, 
Priscilla,  should  stop  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  at  Mayville  Junction. 
Indeed,  in  his  instructions,  the  Great  Man,  who  was  the  car's  sole  occu- 
pant, had  provided  for  a  wait  of  only  five  minutes.  It  is  a  matter  of 
record,  however,  that  for  forty-five  minutes  the  official  train  waited  at  the 
lonesome  little  station  on  the  Indiana  prairie.  What  happened  in  those 
forty-five  minutes  is  now  given  for  the  first  time  to  the  public. 

After  the  Great  Man — who  was  no  other  than  the  president  of  the 
A.  M.  &  P.  Trunk  Line,  which  joins  the  Atlantic  Ocean  with  the  Great 
Lakes — after  the  Great  Man  had  taken  a  perfunctory  turn  about  the  little 
station,  he  went  back  to  his  seat  in  the  white-and-gold  drawing-room,  and 
sat  down  to  a  game  of  solitaire.  The  Great  Man  was  not  specially  fond 
of  solitaire.  But  he  was  still  less  fond  of  the  thoughts  engendered  by  a 
two  weeks'  solitary  tour  of  inspection  through  the  flat,  drab,  malarial 
country  of  the  middle  West.  It  was  while  the  president  was  thus 
engaged  that  he  was  startled  by  these  words,  spoken  in  a  shrill  little 
voice — 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  are  you  the  king?  " 

The  moment  that  elapsed  before  the  Great  Man  could  whirl  about 
in  the  direction  of  the  voice  was  long  enough  for  several  detached  bits  of 
"Alice  in  Wonderland  "  to  flit  through  his  brain.  What  he  saw,  how- 
ever, when  faced  around,  was  simply  a  very  solemn,  very  pale  little  girl, 
who  stood  with  one  thin  hand  on  the  door  knob,  and  one  small,  scarlet- 
stockinged  leg  well  advanced,  while  her  hazel  eyes  gleamed  at  him 
anxiously  from  under  a  fuzzy  brown  hat. 

"  Really,"  said  the  Great  Man,  good-humoredly,  "  I  don't  know — 
why,  yes,  now  that  you  speak  of  it — I  suppose  I  am  a  sort  of  king.  At 
least,  I  believe  newspapers  call  me  a  railroad  king.  Won't  you  come 
here  and  sit  down?" 


149 

The  small  girl  shut  the  door  and  slid  to  his  side  in  a  gait  that  com- 
bined a  hop  and  a  glide.  "  I  suppose  it  isn't  just  the  thing  to  sit  down 
in  the  presence  of  royalty,  but,  you  see,  I  am  a  princess  myself — a  fairy 
princess." 

"  Indeed.  That's  very  interesting,  and  I  don't  like  to  doubt  the 
word  of  a  lady.  But  all  the  fairy  princesses  of  my  acquaintance  have  had 
wings  and  spangles,  and  carried  star-tipped  wands — and — and  all  that." 

"  But  that  was  because  you  saw  them  during  the  performance.  I 
wear  wings  and  spangles  and  carry  a  wand  myself,  in  the  evenings,  and 
at  the  Wednesday  and  Saturday  matinees.  I'm  the  Princess  Iris,  in  the 
Golden  Crown  Opera  Company ;  and  if  I  wore  my  fairy  clothes  all  the 
time  my  wings  would  fade  and  the  spangles  would  wear  off. 

"  But  you  know  you  don't  look  a  bit  like  the  kings  of  my  acquaint- 
ance. They  all  wear  gilt  crowns  and  velvet  and  ermine  robes,  and  carry 
sceptres.  And,  besides,  you  are  a  great  deal  too  young.  " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  me  there ;  at  least,  I  mean,  I  suppose  you 
are  right.  I  don't  look  my  part.  But,  then,  I  am  not  performing  now 
myself.  We  are  in  the  same  boat — that  is —  " 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  bother  to  explain,  I  understand  slang.  Only  I 
don't  talk  it  myself,  now,  except  when  I  forget,  because  the  Queen  doesn't 
like  it." 

"So  there  is  a  queen,  too,  is  there?  Dear  me,  we  shall  soon  have 
the  entire  royal  family." 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  queen,  and  she  is  not  to  be  laughed  at.  In  fact, 
it's  partly  about  her  I've  come.  I — wanted  an  audience." 

"  Well,  really,  I  should  like  to  accommodate  you,  but  " — "  my 
train  leaves  in  about  one  minute,  and  I  don't  see  exactly  how  I  can." 

"Oh,  my!  Can't  you  even  make  your  own  train  wait  while  a 
princess  talks  to  you?  " 

"  Well,  since  you  put  it  that  way,  I  suppose  I  can,"  said  the  Great 
Man,  pressing  an  electric  button.  Then,  the  porter  appeared,  and  glided 
out  again. 

"  Very  likely  I  don't  get  half  the  fun  out  of  being  a  king  that  I 
might.  You  see,  I  sometimes  forget  the  extent  of  my  power." 

"  Ah  !  yes,  that's  the  very  thing  I've  come  to  speak  to  you  about.  I 
— I  hope  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  hurt  your  feelings.  It's  like  this  :  I 
s'pose  you've  such  a  big  kingdom  you  don't  get  a  chance  to  straighten 
out  all  things  that  go  wrong." 

"  And  something  has  gone  wrong  now,  has  it?" 

"  Yes,  as  wrong  as  can  be.     It's  the  train  to  Washita.     It  was  put 


down  on  the  time-table,  you  know,  to  go  at  four  this  afternoon,  and 
we  all  came  down  to  the  station  to  get  it.  And  now  they  say  it  may 
be  two  hours  before  it  arrives ;  so,  instead  of  getting  to  Washita  at  half- 
past  six  it  will  be  long  after  nine,  and  we'll  be  too  late  to  give  our  perform- 
ance. And  that  will  be  a  very  d-r-eadful  loss  to  the  Queen." 

"  How's  that?     One  night  can't  make  very  much  difference." 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  Saturday  night  and  the  whole  house  was  sold  long 
ago.  Washita's  the  best  show  town  in  the  State,  you  know,  and  the  Queen 
was  counting  on  the  money. 

"You  see,  it's  been  a  dreadfully  poor  season  in  the  profession,  and 
even  the  Queen  has  lost  heaps.  And  just  now  when  she  found  out  we'd 
be  late  her  face  got  all  white  and  she  hung  on  to  my  hand,  oh,  so  hard, 
and  said — It  quite  upsets  me  to  think  of  it.  The  Queen  said  that  she 
was  afraid  that  the  company  would  have  to  disband  now,  and  the  season's 
hardly  begun." 

Two  great  tears  rolled  down  the  white  little  face. 

"  That  is  hard  luck  !  But  then,  after  all  she's  only  a  play  queen, 
you  know,  and  I  presume  she's — well — roughed  it  before.  Anyway  you'll 
probably  all  find  nice  engagements  soon,  and  be  just  as  well  off  as  you 
are  now." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?  Of  course  we  can't  be  so  happy  with  any  one 
else.  And  we  all  love  her  dearly.  And,  besides,  if  the  rest  are  make- 
believes  she  isn't ;  she's  a  real  queen  all  the  time  !  I — you  must  excuse 
me  if  I  hurt  your  feelings.  The  Queen  wouldn't  like  it  if  she  thought 
I'd  done  that,  and  on  her  account,  too ;  but,  you  see,  I  really  couldn't 
bear  to  have  her  called  a  make-believe.  And  now,  I  think  I'll  go  back 
to  the  station.  My  auntie  and  the  Queen  will  be  wondering  where  I  am." 

"  Wait  a  minute,  I  want  to  know  more  about  this  real  Queen.  You 
know  they  say  all  royal  families  are  connected,  and  she  may  be  a  relative 
of  mine." 

"  No,  she  isn't,  because  she  told  me  once  that  she  had  no  relations 
left  since  her  father  died.  You  see,  she  used  to  live  in  a  big  palace  in 
New  York  in  the  winter  and  a  stone  castle  in  Newport  in  the  summer, 
and  she  had  horses,  and  carriages,  and  diamonds,  and  all  those  things. 
But  she  wasn't  a  queen  because  she  had  them,  you  know,  but  they  belonged 
to  her  because  she  was  a  queen. 

"  Well,  one  day  her  father  died  and  they  found  he'd  lost  all  his 
money,  and  some  that  belonged  to  other  people  besides,  so  the  Queen 
had  to  go  on  the  stage  and  get  some  monry  to  take  care  of  herself  and 
to  pay  back  what  he  borrowed,  you  know.  And  that  was  four  years  ago, 


and  now  she's  paid  back  all  Mr.  Denbigh's  debts  except  two  thousand 
dollars—" 

"  Mr.  Denbigh  !  " 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter?  Ain't  you  feeling  well?  Your  arm  trem- 
bles so." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  quite  well.     Only  I  felt  so  sorry  for  your  Queen." 

"  I  knew  you  would.  Well,  as  I  told  you,  she  paid  it  all  back  except 
just  that  two  thousand  dollars,  and  this  season  she  expected  to  finish  it. 
And  that  made  her  so  happy  because  she  doesn't  like  being  a  make- 
believe  queen,  and  it  was  only  on  her  father's  account  she  did  it." 

"You're  sure  it  was  only  that?  She  didn't  care  to  be  famous, 
after  all?" 

"Why,  how  queer  your  voice  sounds.  I'm  sure  you  can't  be  feeling 
well  or  you  wouldn't  say  such  things.  I  should  think  that  being  a  king 
yourself  you'd  know  that  when  a  person's  been  a  real  queen  once  she 
wouldn't  care  about  being  a  make-believe  one." 

"  Now  there  was  one  that  the  Queen  knew.  She  told  me  just  a 
little  about  him  one  day  when  things  seemed  very  make-believey  to  her. 
She  put  it  in  a  kind  of  story,  you  know. 

"  Do  you  know,  he  thought  just  what  you  did,  because  she  wouldn't 
marry  him  instead  of  going  off  for  what  he  called  a  '  career  '  ?  And  he'd 
known  her  ever  since  she  was  a  little  girl,  too,  and  ought  to  have  known 
better,  oughtn't  he?" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  he  ought.  But  you  see  the  Queen  didn't  tell  him 
about — about  the  money  she  was  paying  back.  And  she  was  a  great  deal 
younger  than  he,  and  beautiful,  with  a  voice  that  people  said  would  make 
her  famous,  and  he  thought  that  she  really  cared  more  to  be  a  stage  queen 
than  anything  else." 

"  Tell  me,  dear,  has  she  still  the  ring  he  gave  her  when  she  was  a 
little  girl?  " 

"  The  teenty  little  forget-me-not  ring  that  she  wears  on  a  chain  and 
often  kis — But — how  did  you  know?  I  never  told  you  the  rest,  and  your 
eyes  are  so  strange." 

But  the  Great  Man  had  risen  and  was  striding  rapidly  up  and  down 
the  car.  "  And  Alice  really  cared  for  me — she  cares  for  me  still, 
while  I,  who  ought  to  have  stood  by  her,  have  only  hindered  her. 
And  now  she  needs  help,  and  I  with  all  my  money  haven't  the  right  to 
help  her.  It's  too  late — I  can  never  make  up  for  the  time  I've  lost." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mind,  but  you  spoke  so  loud  I  couldn't  help 
hearing  the  last.  And  if  you  mean  the  train  to  Washita,  it  isn't  too  late. 


152 

If  you  could  get  it  here  in  fifteen  minutes — and  I  s'spose  that's  easy,  for 
a  king — we  could  give  the  performance,  even  if  the  curtain  did  ring  up 
late." 

"Train  to  Washita,"  murmured  the  Great  Man.  "Why  yes;  of 
course !  How  stupid  of  me,"  and  he  pressed  the  electric  button. 

Then,  to  the  porter,  "  Ask  the  conductor  to  step  here." 

"The  Golden  Crown  Opera  Company  has  been  delayed  here,"  he 
said,  when  that  official  appeared,  "  and  I  want  them  to  take  this  special 
train  to  Washita.  Put  the  whole  party  in  my  private  car.  Tell  the 
engineer  he  must  make  extra  time  to  get  them  there  at  six-thirty.  Tele- 
graph ahead  for  a  clear  track  and  to  Casstown  for  supplies,  so  that  dinner 
may  be  served  in  this  car.  When  the  train  is  ready  to  start  step  over  to 
the  station  and  tell  the  company  that  the  train  for  Washita  is  waiting. 
And  be  sure  that  everything  is  done  to  make  them  comfortable.  I  will 
follow  on  the  regular  express." 

Then  the  Great  Man  found  himself  suddenly  caught  in  the  embrace 
of  what  seemed  a  small-sized  tornado.  "You  really  mean  it?  Oh,  I  was 
sure  from  the  beginning  that  you  were  a  really,  truly  king,  even  if  you 
didn't  wear  a  crown  and  velvet  robes.  But,  you  won't  go  away  just  when 
the  Queen's  coming?  " 

"Well,  you  see,  the  fact  is,  these  meetings  with  royalty  are  so  unusual 
for  me  that  I  feel  hardly  prepared  for  another  one  the  same  day.  So  I 
think  I'll  follow  in  a  common  car.  And  in  the  morning  I'll  ask  for  a 
private  audience  with  the  Queen." 


153 


GOING  TO  THE  CIRCUS. 

BY  JAMES  OTIS. 
An  adaptation  from  "  The  Wreck  of  the  Circus.1 


ARRANGED  BY  SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 

Every  available  space  in  the  town  of  Berwick  was  occupied  by  the 
gorgeously  colored  posters  of  the  "  GREAT  AND  ONLY  CIRCUS,  Royal  Amphi- 
theatre, and  Grand  Aggregation  of  Living  Wonders."  And  nearly  every 
boy  in  the  village  knew  that  the  circus  was  coming  and  talked  of  little 
else  from  the  moment  the  mammoth  placards  appeared ;  and  they 
speculated  as  to  how  the  money  with  which  to  purchase  a  ticket  could  be 
procured.  Among  some  whose  minds  were  not  at  rest  were  Teddy 
Dunham  and  Phil  Barton.  On  the  day  before  the  "  Great  and  Only  " 
was  to  make  its  appearance,  the  two  boys  met  by  chance  in  front  of  the 
largest  collection  of  posters,  and  from  the  expression  on  the  face  of  each 
you  would  have  said  the  boys  were  extremely  unhappy. 

"No,  I  haven't  got  the  money,"  said  Teddy,  "  mother  says  she  can't 
spare  it  now,  times  are  so  hard,  an'  I  haven't  had  a  single  chance  to 
earn  so  much  as  a  cent.  But,  Phil,  I  ain't  going  to  give  up  trying  until 
after  the  show  has  opened.  Say,  Phil,  will  you  go  with  me  to  see  the 
show  before  it  gets  into  town?  " 

"  Course  I  will,  I  was  counting  on  doing  that  much  anyhow. 

"  We'll  start  by  daylight,  an'  walk  as  far  as  the  cross-roads.  I  shan't 
wait,  even  to  wash  my  face." 

"  I'll  be  all  ready." 

Then  Phil  and  Teddy  separated.  Two  hours  later  the  friends  met 
again  in  front  of  Atwood's  store,  and  there  was  an  expression  of  deepest 
gloom  on  Phil's  face,  which  caused  Teddy  to  ask,  "  Have  your  folks  shut 
down  on  the  circus,  even  if  you  can  earn  money  to  buy  a  ticket?  " 

"  They  might  just  as  well,  for  mother  and  father  are  reckoning  on 
leaving  early  to-morrow  morning  for  a  visit  to  Aunt  Hannah,  an'  won't  be 


back  till  evening,  and  I've  got  to  take  care  of  baby  from  morning  till 
night." 

"  Well,  you  are  in  a  fix  !  Don't  you  suppose  you  could  take  the 
baby  down  to  the  cross-roads.  Ain't  he  three  years  old?" 

"  What  of  that?  He  couldn't  travel  five  miles,  could  he!  As  to 
lugging  him,  he's  heavier  than  lead.  So  I'll  have  to  stay  at  home,  I've 
got  Sam  on  my  hands  till  night." 

"  If  we  can  earn  the  money  to  buy  tickets,  just  as  likely  as  not  we 
could  run  Sam  in  for  nothing.  I  ain't  certain,  but  I'll  bet  we  can 
take  him  with  us,  and  when  your  mother  comes  home,  why,  she'll  be  glad 
the  baby  had  a  good  time." 

Phil  did  not  feel  positive — but  this  was  a  sound  argument;  so,  after 
an  exceedingly  brief  struggle  with  his  conscience,  the  matter  was  ended, 
and  once  more  came  the  question  as  to  how  the  money  might  be  pro- 
cured. This  was  a  problem  which  Teddy  could  not  solve  as  readily  as  he 
had  the  one  regarding  Sam. 

The  morning  on  which  the  "  Great  and  Only  "  was  to  exhibit  dawned 
as  bright  and  fair  as  could  have  been  desired.  It  was  a  great  relief  to 
Phil  when  the  carriage  was  at  the  door  and  his  mother  ready  for  depart- 
ure— "  I  know  you  can  be  trusted,  Philip.  Remember  that  Sammie  is 
only  a  baby,  and  be  patient  with  him.  If  we  are  not  home  by  sunset  put 
him  to  bed."  Then  the  carriage  was  whirled  away ;  and  Phil  was  left 
with  Sam  and  his  conscience. 

It  was  not  yet  seven  o'clock  when  an  unusual  commotion  told  that 
the  "  Aggregation  of  Living  Wonders  "  was  approaching  the  town.  An 
hour  later  and  Teddie,  breathless  with  excitement,  rushed  in — 

"  She's  come,  Phil !  "  he  shouted.  "  Why,  them  pictures  don't  begin 
to  tell  half  that  belongs  to  this  circus.  I  never  saw  such  horses  an'  beasts 
in  my  life.  And  the  wagons  !  Well,  more  gold  on  'em  than  would  buy 
two  such  towns  as  this  !  And  say,  Phil,  they've  got  three  bands  of  music. 
I  don't  believe  a  circus  of  the  kind  was  ever  here  before,  an'  we've  got  to 
get  in  some  way  !  Hurrah  !  There  she  comes  !  There  she  conies  ! 
Now,  Phil,  you're  going  to  see  something." 

Strains  of  music  told  of  the  approach  of  the  "  Great  and  Only,"  and 
from  that  moment  until  the  end  of  the  cavalcade  had  passed,  neither  the 
boys  nor  the  baby  heeded  anything  save  the  gorgeous  procession,  which 
caused  the  dusty  road  to  appear  a  perfect  blaze  of  color.  Then  Teddy 
assumed  an  air  of  business,  leaped  down  from  the  veranda — "  Now,  I've 
got  to  leave.  There's  no  time  to  lose.  Phil,  you  go  over  by  the  circus 
grounds.  I'll  be  sure  to  find  you."  And  Teddv  departed  hurriedly. 


Phil  no  longer  thought  of  duty ;  he  locked  the  door  carefully  and 
taking  little  Sam  by  the  hand  started  for  the  circus  grounds. 

He  had  been  on  the  enchanted  ground  half  an  hour  or  more  when 
he  heard  a  familiar  cry — "  Hi  !  Phil  !  Hold  on  a  minute  !  " 

Then  Teddy,  carrying  two  water-pails,  came  toward  him.  "  I've  struck 
just  the  kind  of  a  job  I  was  hunting  after.  I'm  just  the  same  as  one  of 
the  circus  men  now.  I'm  luggin'  water  for  the  horses.  It  ain't  five 
minutes  since  I  had  my  arms  'round  the  neck  of  that  spotted  pony. 
That's  what  you  call  a  stunner  !" 

"  Will  they  really  let  you  go  in  and  out  of  there  as  often  as  you  like  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  Didn't  I  say  I  was  luggin'  water  for  the  horses  and  I'm 
going  to  get  two  tickets  for  the  show.  Though  I'd  been  willing  to  do  it 
for  nothing  rather'n  not  had  the  chance.  Say,  why  can't  you  help  me?" 

Phil  actually  forgot  the  baby  and  seized  one  of  the  pails,  when  he 
suddenly  remembered  his  charge.  "How  can  I?  The  baby  couldn't 
run  back  and  forth." 

"  Put  him  right  down  on  the  ground  an'  chuck  a  couple  of  rocks  on 
his  dress;  that'll  hold  him." 

"Yes,  an'  he'd  yell  loud  enough  to  break  up  the  whole  show — 
there's  Sadie  Parker  !  I  wonder  if  I  gave  her  my  '  agates  '  if  she  wouldn't 
take  care  of  him  a  spell?  "  Hurriedly  Phil  made  his  way  to  where  Sadie 
was  standing;  and  in  a  few  moments  she  was  engaged  as  temporary  nurse 
for  little  Sam.  The  boys  worked  until  streams  of  perspiration  ran  down 
their  flushed  faces,  but  there  was  no  thought  of  relinquishing  their  proud 
positions  as  water-carriers  to  the  circus  horses.  Noon  came  and  Teddy's 
employer  still  demanded  more  water.  The  boys  worked  until  every 
barrel  and  pail  in  the  terft  had  been  filled.  "  Now  Teddy,  you  go  and 
get  the  tickets  and  I'll  take  Sam  and  hang  'round  in  front  of  the  big  tent 
till  you  come."  Phil  hurriedly  made  his  way  to  the  spot  where  he  had  last 
seen  Sadie  and  the  baby,  but — failing  to  find  either — he  ran  from  one  end 
of  the  grounds  to  the  other,  inquiring  eagerly  for  the  missing  nurse  of  every 
acquaintance  he  met  until  he  was  nearly  breathless,  when  Leander  Phinney 
told  him  he  had  seen  Sadie  Parker  on  her  way  home  and  that  she  was 
alone.  Phil  stood  gazing  around  him  in  perplexity,  and  then  with  the 
utmost  haste  he  started  for  the  Parker  home.  Sadie  having  seen  him 
from  the  window,  came  quickly  out  into  the  street — "  Didn't  you  find 
the  baby  where  I  left  him?  I  stayed  with  him  just  as  long  as  I  could, 
for  mother  told  me  if  I  wasn't  home  by  dinner  time  I  couldn't  go  to  the 
circus  this  afternoon.  I  left  the  baby  with  a  woman  and  she  said  she'd 


156 

take  care  of  him  till  you  came,  I  don't  know  but  I  think  she  belonged  to 
the  circus." 

"  Did  she  promise  to  stay  right  in  that  spot?  " 

"  I  don't  know  as  those  were  her  very  words ;  but  she  said  she'd 
take  care  of  him." 

Phil  was  bewildered,  he  stood  for  an  instant  staring  blankly  at  Sadie, 
then  turning,  ran  back  to  the  tenting-ground  at  full  speed.  He  was  dart- 
ing here  and  there,  hoping  even  against  hope  that  he  might  by  accident 
stumble  upon  the  baby  when  Teddy  confronted  him. 

"  Say,  you're  a  nice  fellow  for  a  partner,  ain't  you?  " 

"  But  Sam's  lost,  Teddy,  I  can't  find  him."  And  Phil  repeated  what 
had  been  told  him. 

"  O  !  it's  all  right  if  one  of  the  show  women  took  him.  I  suppose 
he's  inside  the  big  tent  this  minute,  he's  bound  to  be  there.  Come  on ; 
let's  go  in  and  we'll  have  hold  of  Sam  in  no  time." 

At  last  Phil  was  inside  the  magic  portals,  but  this  fact  did  not  give 
him  the  pleasure  he  had  expected.  On  every  hand  were  fancifully 
painted  cages  containing  animals  yet  he  paid  little  attention  to  them  or  the 
herd  of  elephants  which  would  have  held  him  spell  bound  under  different 
circumstances. 

"Hold  on!  Where  are  you  going?  Just  look  at  that  cage  of 
monkeys,  will  you?  " 

"  I  can't  stop  now,  Teddy.     I've  got  to  find  Sam." 

It  seemed  to  Phil  as  if  fully  half  the  afternoon  had  passed  before 
Teddy  finally  announced  his  willingness  to  enter  the  main  tent  where 
both  believed  the  baby  would  be  found. 

The  spacious  tent  was  filled  almost  to  overflowing.  "What  shall  I 
do,  Teddy  ?  We  couldn't  find  him  here  in  a  month,  even  if  he  was  huntin' 
ior  us." 

"  I  think  you'll  have  to  wait  till  this  crowd  clears  out." 

It  was  no  longer  possible  for  Phil  to  restrain  his  tears ;  the  big  drops 
chased  each  other  down  his  cheeks.  If  at  that  moment  he  could  have 
thrown  himself  down  at  his  mother's  knee,  knowing  little  Sam  was  safe  at 
home,  how  gladly  would  he  receive  such  punishment  as  she  might  see  fit 
to  inflict.  Unfortunately  this  could  not  be. 

The  frightened  boy  ran  to  and  fro,  like  one  frantic  he  darted  from 
point  to  point.  It  was  as  if  the  baby  had  disappeared  from  off  the  face 
of  the  earth.  He  had  no  idea  of  the  flight  of  time.  It  might  have  been 
five  minutes  or  half  an  hour,  when  he  was  aroused  by  the  cry — "  Hi ! 
Phil !  Phil  Barton  !  Sam's  all  right ;  he's  with  the  woman  who  took  him 


157 

from  Sadie  Parker.  One  of  the  men  said  he  saw  something-or-other 
Marie  going  into  the  dressing-room  with  a  strange  youngster." 

Phil  soon  found  the  dressing-room.  "Teddy  Dunham  says  our 
baby's  here,  an'  I've  got  to  come  in,"  he  said  to  the  burly  fellow  who 
barred  the  passage. 

"Are  you  after  the  kid  M'lle  Marie  brought  in?  He's  in  the 
women's  dressing-room ;  but  neither  you  nor  I  can  go  in  there  until  the 
show  is  over." 

"  But  I  must,  I've  got  to  get  Sam." 

"Oh,  you  must,  eh?  The  rule  of  this  'ere  show  is  that  nobody  is 
allowed  in  the  women's  dressing-room,  an'  I'm  here  to  see  that  it  ain't 
broken.  You  come  back  when  the  performance  is  over.  You'd  better 
follow  my  advice,  my  boy,  'cause  you  won't  get  him  any  sooner." 

Almost  mechanically  Phil  retraced  his  steps.  Loud  strains  of  music 
told  that  the  performance  had  begun ;  yet  he  hesitated  to  join  the 
audience  lest  every  finger  should  be  pointed  at  him  as  a  boy  who  had 
deserted  his  baby  brother  for  the  questionable  pleasure  of  carrying  water 
to  the  circus  horses.  While  he  stood  leaning  against  the  wheel  of  a 
wagon,  a  loud,  sudden  peal  of  thunder  seemed  to  cause  the  very  earth  to 
tremble,  and  the  caged  animals  darted  to  and  fro  across  their  narrow 
prisons  in  alarm.  Another  peal,  even  louder  than  the  first,  and  then  a 
fierce  gust  of  wind  swept  down  upon  the  canvas  structure.  A  flash  of 
ightning,  another  angry  roar  from  the  heavens,  which  was  greeted  with  a 
howl  of  fear  from  the  occupants  of  the  cages,  then  it  seemed  to  Phil  as  if 
the  tent  was  lifted  high  in  the  air.  He  heard  shrill  screams  of  women, 
the  hoarse  shouts  of  men,  the  sharp  flapping  of  the  tent,  and  in  another 
instant,  just  as  the  struggling  mass  of  human  beings  attempted  to  force 
their  way  out,  the  tents  of  the  "  Great  and  Only  "  collapsed,  burying 
spectators  and  employees  alike. 

At  first  Phil  was  conscious  of  being  held  down  and  to  extricate 
himself,  or  even  to  so  much  as  move  a  hand,  was  impossible.  He  thought 
of  the  baby  smothering,  dying,  and  he  not  only  realized,  but  magnified 
the  consequences  of  his  disobedience  to  his  parents.  The  howling  and 
shrieking  of  the  wind  could  be  heard  above  the  din  caused  by  the 
animals,  and  the  wet  canvas  was  tossed  up  and  down  violently.  As  the 
heavy  canvas  was  lifted  by  the  wind,  Phil  involuntarily  moved  to  one  side 
or  the  other,  until  he  suddenly  found  himself  at  the  very  outermost  edge 
of  the  covering  ;  and  when  the  next  blast  of  wind  raised  the  imprisoning 
weight  he  rolled  himself  free.  Starting  to  his  feet  he  ran  hurriedly,  with 


158 

a  horrible  fear  tugging  at  his  heart,  toward  that  portion  where  the  dressing- 
room  had  been  located  but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  find  it.  There 
was  before  him  only  a  mass  of  sodden  canvas  from  beneath  which  came 
cries  of  agony.  Phil  shouted  the  baby's  name  at  the  full  strength  of  his 
lungs ;  but  his  voice  was  a  whisper  compared  with  the  deafening  din. 
After  what  seemed  like  a  very  long  time  the  employees  of  the  "  Great 
and  Only  "  and  the  uninjured  citizens  of  the  town  began  their  work  of 
rescue. 

While  Phil  was  searching  for  the  ruins  of  the  dressing-room  a  bare- 
headed boy,  whose  clothing  was  torn  until  it  literally  hung  in  rags  cried 
out  "Did  you  find  Sam  yet?  " 

"  Is  that  you  Teddy?" 

"  It  seems  something  that  way,  though  I've  been  pretty  nigh  squeezed 
out  of  myself.  Did  you  get  hurt?" 

"  I  wish  I  had,  I'd  rather  been  killed  than  to  have  to  go  home 
an'  tell  mother  poor  little  Sam  is  there."  And  Phil  threw  himself  down 
on  the  water-soaked  canvas  and  gave  himself  up  wholly  to  grief.  Both 
he  and  Teddy  were  drenched  to  the  skin. 

"  See  here,  Phil,  this  won't  do.  In  the  first  place  there  are  none 
killed — there's  Mr.  Hannaford,  we'll  ask  him  what  to  do." 

"The  proper  course  for  you  boys  is  to  make  a  house-to-house  search. 
The  little  fellow  would  be  given  over  to  the  neighbors."  Phil  hardly 
waited  for  the  gentleman  to  cease  speaking  before  he  started  followed  by 
Teddy. 

"  You  go  on  that  side  of  the  road  an'  I'll  take  this,"  he  shouted, 
and  the  house-to-house  search  was  begun.  No  one  had  seen  the  baby, 
and  each  person  appeared  to  be  so  pre«  ccupied  with  his  own  suffering, 
or  that  of  his  neighbor,  that  but  little  sympathy  was  extended. 

An  hour  passed,  and  Phil's  heart  grew  faint,  when  Teddy  said, 
"  gracious,  Phil,  we  didn't  ask  at  the  hotel !  " 

"  Of  course  not,  they  wouldn't  take  our  Sam  there." 

But  Teddy  literally  forced  his  friend  to  accompany  him,  and  the  two 
boys  stood  panting  in  the  office  of  the  hotel.  "  All  the  circus  women  are 
on  the  second  floor  and  M'lle  Marie  is  in  No.  14,"  the  proprietor  said. 

"  There,  what  did  I  tell  you?"  Teddy  cried  triumphantly.  But 
Phil  did  not  wait  for  further  information,  he  hurried  up  the  stairs  and 
knocked  at  Number  14,  and  a  voice  responded,  "Come  in." 

Teddy  entered  first,  and  before  he  was  fairly  inside  the  room,  Phil 
darted  past  him,  crying  hysterically  as  he  ran  toward  the  bed  on  which  a 
baby  lay  sleeping  peacefully — 


"  O,  Sam  !  Sam  !  I  have  found  you,  and  you  ain't  dead  !  "  Phil 
no  longer  thought  Sam  a  heavy  burden,  but,  raising  him  in  his  arms, 
staggered  out  of  the  room,  with  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving  in  his  heart  that 
his  brother's  life  had  been  spared. 

Without  any  attempt  to  excuse  himself,  Phil  told  the  whole  story  to 
his  mother,  who  without  a  single  word  of  reproof  caught  him  in  her  arms 
and  gently  kissed  him. 


i6o 


THE   STORY   OF   CHRISTINE    ROCHEFORT. 


BY   HELEN   CHOATE  PRINCE. 


(Printed  by  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 
INTRODUCTION. 

Christine  D'Arcy,  the  daughter  of  a  French  noble  family,  married  a 
wealthy  chocolate  manufacturer,  Gaston  Rochefort. 

Having  been  educated  in  England,  she  has  more  liberal  views  than 
her  relatives,  and  sympathizes  sincerely  with  the  troubles  and  anxieties  of 
the  working  people.  She  had  helped  them  in  a  thousand  little  ways, 
unknown  to  anyone.  She  even  listened  to  the  views  of  Paul  de  Marte 
who,  although  belonging  to  the  nobility  himself,  had  gone  over  to  the 
agitators  who  have  been  disturbing  the  town. 

This  poor  little  aristocrat  meant  well,  but  he  made  most  of  the  trouble 
among  the  people. 

A  strike  has  been  inaugurated,  and  the  people  refuse  to  make  any 
compromise.] 

Gaston  Rochefort  has  become  severely  embarrassed  by  the  stopping 
of  the  works,  has  reduced  his  home  establishment,  and  just  before  the 
following  scene  begins,  has  gone  to  Paris  to  sell  out  his  stables. 
###*****» 

Dinner  was  a  mockery  as  Christine  sat  alone,  served  by  the  silent 
Francois. 

"No  coffee  to-night,  Francois,"  she  said  as  she  left  the  room,  and 
slowly  went  upstairs  to  her  own  fire ;  she  shivered  a  little  as  she  sat  down 
to  read.  Her  dog,  Thor,  stretched  himself  beside  her,  and  slept  happily 
after  his  dinner.  Christine  could  not  fix  her  attention  on  her  book. 
How  still  the  house  was  ! 

Ah,  that  must  be  the  wind  rising,  that  low,  irregular  murmur.  Was 
it  the  wind  that  sounded  like  a  woman's  cry?  Was  the  river  rising? 
The  confused  noise  grew  louder  and  nearer;  it  could  not  be  the  river, 
for  it  came  from  the  direction  of  the  bridge  towards  which  the  water 
flowed.  A  loud  ringing  at  the  gate  distracted  her  attention  for  a  moment. 


Then  a  thought  came  to  Christine  that  stiffened  her  with  terror  for  a 
moment,  and  prevented  her  from  moving — it  was  a  mob. 

Christine  heard  the  hoarse  growl,  grown  louder  and  fiercer,  while  high, 
maddened  shrieks  soared  at  intervals  above  the  steady  under-current. 
Thor  heard  it,  too,  and  burst  into  loud,  snapping  barks,  jumping  fran- 
tically to  get  through  the  closed  shutters.  She  rang  the  bell,  but  while 
her  hand  was  still  on  the  rope  the  door  burst  open,  and  the  frightened 
servants  huddled  in. 

"  The  mob,  madame,  the  mob,  the  mob,"  they  cried. 

"Be  calm.     Francois,  are  the  doors  all  locked?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,  they  are." 

By  this  time  the  mob  had  rushed  into  the  garden  and  the  house  was 
surrounded.  The  cries,  ever  louder  and  fiercer,  rose  in  the  night  air, 
and  the  words  "  Down  with  the  Rochefort  woman  "  were  plainly  heard. 
As  they  were  repeated,  a  new  spirit  stirred  Christine's  breast,  her  eyes 
flashed  and  her  nostrils  dilated ;  the  haughty  pride  of  her  race  lying 
dormant  within  her  awoke. 

Leaving  the  door  she  went  quickly  into  the  hall,  Thor  following,  and 
without  a  moment's  hesitation  undid  the  long  window  that  opened  upon 
a  balcony  and  stepped  out.  The  crowd  of  frantic  creatures  below 
stopped  for  a  time  their  wild  cries  and  gazed  in  silence. 

She  stood  with  her  figure  clearly  outlined,  her  head  held  high,  her 
long  velvet  cloak  sweeping  back  over  her  shoulders ;  her  hair,  stirred  by 
the  night  wind,  caught  the  light  behind  her  and  gleamed  a  pale  gold.- 
In  the  momentary  silence  her  voice  rang  out  firm  and  contemptuous — 

"  I  am  here — the  Rochefort  woman.     What  do  you  want?  " 

A  yell  answered  her  from  the  surging  mass  below — a  yell  that  would 
have  frozen  her  blood  had  it  been  less  hot  with  anger  than  it  was  > 
she  raised  her  hand  commanding  silence,  and  they  listened. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  you.  I  have  done  you  no  harm,  and  it  is  only 
the  guilty  who  fear.  Let  one  of  you  tell  me  what  you  want,  so  I  may 
understand  this  riot." 

One  of  them  gave  a  laugh  that  was  half  a  groan,  as  he  answered, 
"  Done  us  no  harm  ?  Is  it  no  harm  to  be  spending  enough  in  one  day 
for  your  pleasure  to  keep  us  from  starvation  for  a  week?  You  have 
never  lifted  your  hand  for  us  who  have  built  up  your  husband's  fortune. 
You  do  not  know  us  by  sight,  and  now  that  we  are  dying  from  hunger,, 
you  never  come  near  us.  I  call  that  harm  enough." 

"  And  I  call  you  cowards  to  come  a  hundred  of  you  against  one 


162 

woman.  Let  two  or  three  come  into  the  house,  and  I  will  talk  quietly 
with  them,  but  I  will  not  be  frightened  by  your  threats." 

She  had  impressed  them  by  her  fearlessness  and  unmistakable 
superiority.  Two  or  three  of  the  leaders  spoke  together  while  the  rest 
stood  cowed  into  submission.  She  seemed  almost  a  being  from  another 
sphere  for  the  space  of  perhaps  a  moment ;  then  some  one  threw  an 
empty  bottle  at  her.  It  whizzed  through  the  air  and  struck  the  house 
just  above  her,  and  she  shrank  from  the  scattered  pieces.  The  spell 
was  broken,  the  divinity  became  a  woman, — a  hated  woman  again,  and 
the  tumult  burst  forth  with  fresh  fury.  Amid  the  din  of  shrieks  and 
screams  she  could  catch  the  words  "  money,  starvation  "  ;  then  a  voice 
high  and  hoarse  called  out,  "  Burn  the  house  down,  and  stifle  the  rat  in 
her  hole." 

At  these  words  the  confusion  increased.  Christine,  could  distin- 
guish figures  running  behind  the  house  towards  the  stable.  A  curious 
numbness  held  her  spellbound.  These  were  the  people  she  had  longed 
to  live  among  ;  for  their  sufferings  she  had  agonized,  and  they  were  going 
to  kill  her.  She  was  not  conscious  that  her  heart  beat  the  faster  for  the 
thought.  She  was  turning  to  stone,  she  believed,  but  not  a  detail  of  the 
scene  escaped  her.  Now  she  heard  a  rustling  sound,  and  the  peaceful 
odor  of  hay  came  to  her,  as  the  men  returned  from  the  stables,  their 
.arms  filled  with  it. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  diversion.  The  crowd  below  cried  out,  "  the 
little  aristocrat  !  "  and  Christine  felt  now  she  no  longer  feared,  she  heard 
Paul  de  Martel's  voice  ring  out,  "  Stop  where  you  are.  What  are  you 
•doing  here,  my  men?  This  is  the  way  to  hurt  our  cause,  not  help  it." 

"  Monsieur,  we're  starving,  and  that  woman  goes  in  velvet  while  we 
freeze." 

"  Ah,"  said  Paul,  easily,  "  it  does  not  sound  fair,  I  grant,  but  you  are 
not  helping  to  right  it;  listen  to  me,  all  of  you.  Silence  there!  I 
am  going  to  tell  you  something  to  send  you  home  at  once,  and  you'll  be 
glad  I  saved  you  from  a  terrible  wrong.  Madame  is  your  friend  and  " — 

A  coarse,  insulting  laugh  drowned  his  words,  and  the  man  jeered, 
"Ah,  my  boys,  you  needn't  believe  a  thing  he  says." 

Paul,  beside  himself  with  anger,  made  a  dash  at  the  speaker  and 
struck  him.  "  You  villain  !  "  The  man  fell  as  though  he  were  shot,  but 
the  tide  of  favor  was  turned  by  the  act  against  Paul.  A  dozen  men  sur- 
rounded him.  Christine  heard  a  struggle  and  hard  breathing;  then 
suddenly  the  hay,  lighted  at  intervals,  blazed  up,  and  in  the  vivid  glare 


she  saw  him  held  by  two  sturdy  men,  a  woolen  scarf  tied  over  his  face, 
but  still  struggling. 

An  exultant  cry  echoed  through  the  garden  as  the  flames  grew  higher 
and  licked  the  side  of  the  house  ;  they  made  the  terrible  scene  luridly 
brilliant  to  the  silent  spectators  on  the  balcony.  Now  she  could  see  the 
faces  of  the  crowd  animated  by  hungry  ferocity  as  some  ran  busily  to  and 
fro,  bringing  boards  torn  from  the  summer  house  to  feed  the  fire,  while 
others  warmed  their  thin,  gaunt  hands  before  it. 

What  a  pitiful  sight  it  was,  all  these  poor,  half-starved  men,  driven 
by  want  to  desperate  deeds. 

But  the  pity  that  had  been  so  long  the  key-note  of  Christine's  char- 
acter was  strangled  by  anger. 

She  had  been  too  stunned  to  think  of  anything,  bijt  suddenly  a  hope 
came  to  her,  certainly  some  one  would  come  from  the  town  to  save  them ; 
some  one  would  see  the  light  of  the  fire.  And  even  as  the  hope  came  it 
died.  The  house  was  on  the  edge  of  the  town.  If  Paul  had  foiled,  no 
one  else  could  succeed.  She  must  face  death,  and  death  by  fire.  She 
turned  cold,  and  then  a  flush  born  of  agony  swept  over  her  when  she 
thought  of  her  helpless  servants,  who  would  share  her  fate. 

She  bent  over  the  balcony  and  tried  to  make  some  one  listen  to  her 
prayer  to  set  free  those  who  had  done  nothing  to  arouse  their  hate,  but  in 
vain ;  one  or  two  among  the  crowd  saw  her  imploring  gestures,  and 
answered  them  by  a  mocking  laugh ;  and  so  the  work  of  destruction 
went  on. 

Suddenly  over  the  noise  and  tumult  rang  out  a  cry  of  one  delivered, 
and  the  demon-driven  mob  looking  up,  saw  Christine  extending  her  arms. 
They  turned  towards  the  place  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon,  and  they  saw 
the  abb£,  Christine's  friend ;  he  had  climbed  the  wall,  and  with  one 
bound  was  in  their  midst.  His  head  was  bare,  and  they  instinctively  fell 
aside  before  his  rapid  progress  towards  the  house.  Trampling  on  the 
burning  hay,  he  sprang  up  the  front  steps,  and  turning  towards  them  he 
lifted  a  crucifix  on  high,  while  he  knelt  as  if  before  the  altar. 

The  people  stood  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  some  holding  heavy 
boards  just  ready  to  throw  on  the  flames,  some  stopping  in  their  mad 
course  for  more  fuel ;  and  then  in  the  breathless  silence  the  abb£  cried  : 

"  Go,  go,  and  thank  God  you  are  saved  from  a  deed  of  horror  and 
its  consequences.  The  regiment  is  ordered  out,  and  is  almost  here." 


164 


SERGIUS   TO   THE    LION. 

BY   LEW   WALLACE. 
An  adaptation  from  "  The  Prince  of  India."    Copyright,  1893,  by  Harper  &  Brothers,  Publishers. 


ARRANGED  BY  SARA  LORD  BAILEY. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  Constantinople,  during  the  reign  of  the  last 
Constantine.  The  Princess  Irene,  kinswoman  to  the  emperor  and  greatly 
beloved  by  all  the  people,  is  a  firm  friend  of  the  monk  Sergius.  The 
monk,  although  belonging  to  the  order  of  Hegumen,  has  professed  a 
simpler  creed.  The  Princess  Irene,  whom  Sergius  terms  "  Little  Mother," 
for  she  has  been  an  inspiration  to  him  in  his  belief,  shares  with  him  this 
same  creed.  A  short  time  previous  to  the  opening  of  our  scene  Sergius 
has  publicly  announced  his  faith  to  rest  on  the  creed,  "  I  believe  in  God 
and  Jesus  Christ,  His  Son."  For  this  the  Hegumen  called  him  "The 
Heretic,"  and  had  him  condemned  to  the  old  lion  Tamerlane,  in  the 
Cynegion.  Nilo,  a  huge  African,  formerly  a  savage,  but  who  was  attached 
to  the  Princess  Irene  and  Sergius,  had  been  imprisoned  on  account  of 
services  rendered  to  Sergius,  the  monk. 
********* 

About  ten  o'clock  of  the  morning  a  woman,  thickly  veiled,  appeared 
and  applied  to  a  boatman  for  passage  to  the  Cynegion.  Twice  the 
woman  asked  if  she  could  have  a  seat. 

"  How  many  of  you  are  there?  " 

"  I  am  alone." 

"You  want  the  boat  alone?  " 

",Yes." 

"  Well,  that  can't  be.  I  have  seats  for  several ;  and  wife  and  four 
babies  at  home  told  me  to  make  the  most  of  them." 

"  But  I  will  pay  you  for  all  the  seats." 

"Full  five?"     "Yes." 

"Jump  in,  then,  while  I  push  through  these  howling  water-dogs." 

"  Look  !  here  is  a  bezant.  Friend,  row  me  swiftly  to  the  first  gate 
of  the  Cynegion,  and  the  piece  is  yours." 


"  By  my  blessed  patron  !  I'll  make  you  think  you  are  on  a  bird, 
and  that  these  oars  are  wings.  Now  !  " 

And  in  a  trice  he  was  going  at  racing  speed.  The  boats  in  the 
harbor  were  moving  in  two  currents,  one  up,  the  other  down.  The  inter- 
est was  at  the  farther  end  of  the  line,  and  the  day  a  holiday  to  the  two 
cities,  Byzantium  and  Galata.  Yet  the  woman  said  never  a  word  after 
the  start,  but  sat  with  head  bowed  and  her  face  buried  in  her  hands. 

"We  are  nearly  there,"  he  at  length  said. 

"  Please  put  me  ashore  here.     I  have  no  time  to  lose." 

In  a  few  minutes  she  was  on  land.  She  started  hastily  for  the  gate. 
Within  the  Cynegion,  she  kept  on,  and  ere  long  was  brought  to  the 
grand  stand  on  the  north.  She  approached  a  soldier. 

"  Good  friend,  is  the  heretic  who  is  to  suffer  here  yet?  " 

"  He  was  brought  out  last  night." 

"  Poor  man  !  I  am  a  friend  of  his — may  I  see  him  ?  What  are 
your  orders?  " 

"  Not  to  admit  any  one." 

"To  the  cells?  " 

"The  cells  and  the  arena  also." 

"  O  !  I  see.     You  can  let  me  stand  at  the  gate  yonder?  " 

"  Well — yes.  But  if  you  are  the  monk's  friend,  why  do  you  wish  to 
see  him  die?  " 

She  made  no  reply,  but  took  from  a  pocket  a  bezant,  and  contrived 
to  throw  it's  yellow  gleam  in  the  sentinel's  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  violate  your  orders.  Only  let  me  go  to  the 
gate  and  see  the  man  when  he  is  brought  out." 

"  Very  well.     I  can  see  no  harm  in  that.     Go." 

The  gate  in  question  was  open-barred,  and  permitted  a  view  of 
nearly  the  whole  circular  interior.  The  spectacle  presented  was  so  start- 
ling she  caught  one  of  the  bars  for  support.  Throwing  back  the  veil, 
she  looked,  breathing  sighs  which  were  almost  gasps.  The  circular  arena 
was  fifty  feet  in  diameter  and  thickly  strewn  with  wet  sand.  There  were 
walls  20  feet  high,  shutting  it  in  like  a  pit,  and  on  top  of  them,  on  the 
ascending  seats  back  to  the  last  one — was  it  a  cloud  she  beheld  ?  A  sec- 
ond glance,  and  she  recognized  the  body  of  spectators,  men,  women  and 
children,  compacted  against  the  sky.  How  many  of  them  there  were  ! 
Thousands  and  thousands  !  She  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed.  An 
hour  passed  thus.  If  she  were  indeed  a  poor,  love-lorn  creature  come  to 
steal  a  last  look  at  the  unfortunate,  she  eked  small  comfort  from  her  study 
of  the  cloud  of  humanity  on  the  benches.  Their  jollity,  their  frequent 


i66 

laughter  and  hand-clapping  reached  her  in  her  retreat.  "  Merciful  God  ! 
Are  these  beings  indeed  in  Thy  likeness?  "  Suddenly  the  crowd  became 
impatient,  and  the  occupants  of  the  benches  applauded  long  and  merrily, 
crying,  "  Tamerlane  !  Tamerlane  !  "  The  woman  shrank  back  terrified. 
At  length  a  man  entered  the  arena  from  the  western  gate.  Going  to  the 
centre,  he  looked  carefully  around  him  ;  as  if  content  with  the  inspection, 
he  went  next  to  a  cell  and  knocked.  Two  persons  responded  by  coming 
out  of  the  door ;  one,  an  armed  guardsman,  the  other,  the  monk.  The 
latter  wore  a  black  gown  dropping  to  his  feet,  its  sleeves  of  immoderate 
length,  completely  muffling  his  hands.  Instantly  the  concourse  on  the 
benches  arose.  There  was  no  shouting — one  might  have  supposed  them 
all  suddenly  seized  with  shuddering  sympathy.  But  directly  a  word 
began  passing  from  mouth  to  mouth.  At  first  it  was  scarcely  more  than 
a  murmur ;  soon  it  was  a  byname  on  every  tongue  : 

"The  heretic  !     The  heretic  !  " 

His  guard  conducted  him  to  the  centre  of  the  field  and  left  him 
there.  Sergius,  calm,  resigned,  fearless,  turned  to  the  east,  rested  his 
hands  on  his  breast  palm  to  palm,  closed  his  eyes  and  raised  his  face. 
They  who  saw  him  with  his  head  upturned,  the  sunlight  a  radiant  imprint 
on  his  forehead,  and  wanting  only  a  nimbus  to  be  the  Christ  in  apparition, 
ceased  jeering  him  ;  it  seemed  to  them  that  in  a  moment,  without  effort, 
he  had  withdrawn  his  thoughts  from  this  world  and  surrendered  himself. 
They  could  see  his  lips  move.  He  was  saying,  "  I  believe  in  God  and 
Jesus  Christ,  His  Son."  A  trumpet  rang  out  from  the  stand.  A  door  at 
the  left  of  the  tunnel  gate  was  then  slowly  raised  ;  whereupon  a  lion 
stalked  out  of  the  darkened  depths,  and  stopped  on  the  edge  of  the 
den.  He  turned  his  ponderous  head  from  right  to  left  and  up  and  down, 
like  a  prisoner  questioning  if  he  were  indeed  at  liberty.  Having  viewed 
the  sky  and  the  benches,  and  filled  his  deep  chest  with  ample  draughts 
of  fresh  air,  suddenly  Tamerlane  noticed  the  monk.  The  head  rose 
higher,  the  ears  erected,  and,  snuffing  like  a  hound,  he  fretted  his  shaggy 
mane  ;  his  yellow  eyes  changed  to  coals  alive,  and  he  growled  and  lashed 
his  sides  with  his  tail.  A  majestic  figure  was  he  now.  He  stepped  out 
into  the  arena,  and  shrinking  close  to  the  sand,  inched  forward,  creeping 
toward  the  object  of  his  wonder.  Sergius  was  prepared  for  the  attack,  but 
as  a  non-resistant,  if  indeed  he  thought  of  battle,  he  was  not  merely 
unarmed — the  sleeves  of  his  gown  deprived  him  of  the  use  of  his  hands. 
From  the  man  to  the  lion — from  the  lion  to  the  man — the  multitude 
turned  shivering.  Presently  the  lion  stopped,  whined  and  behaved 
uneasily.  Was  he  afraid?  He  began  trotting  around  at  the  base  of  the 


i67 

wall,  halting  before  the  gates,  and  seeking  an  escape.  From  the  trot  he 
broke  into  a  gallop,  without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  the  monk.  A  mur- 
mur descended  from  the  benches.  It  was  the  people  recovering  from 
their  horror,  and  impatient.  They  yelled  at  the  cowardly  beast,  "  Shame, 
shame,  Tamerlane  !  shame  !  "  In  the  height  of  this  tempest  the  gate  of 
the  tunnel  under  the  grand  stand  opened  quickly,  and  was  as  quickly 
shut.  Death  brings  no  deeper  hush  than  fell  upon  the  assemblage  then. 
A  woman  was  crossing  the  sand  toward  the  monk  !  Round  sped  the 
lion,  forward  she  went !  Two  victims  !  Well  worth  the  monster's  hun- 
ger through  the  three  days  to  be  so  banqueted  on  the  fourth  !  She  was 
robed  in  white.  The  dress,  the  action,  the  seraphic  face,  were  not  infre- 
quent on  the  water,  and  especially  in  the  churches ;  recognition  was 
instantaneous,  and  through  the  eager,  crowded  ranks  the  whisper  flew  : 

"God  o'  Mercy  !     It  is  the  Princess — the  Princess  Irene  !  " 

Strong  men  covered  their  eyes,  women  fainted.  Innumerable  arms 
were  outstretched,  and  cries  filled  the  arena  with,  "  Save  her  !  Save  her  ! 
Let  the  lion  be  killed  !  "  Then  Nilo  looked  out  of  his  cell.  He  saw 
the  monk,  the  Princess,  and  the  lion  making  its  furious  circuit — saw  them, 
and  retreated  ;  but  a  moment  after  reappeared,  attired  in  the  savageries 
which  were  his  delight.  In  the  waistbelt  he  had  a  short  sword,  and  over 
his  left  shoulder  a  roll  like  a  fisherman's  net.  The  Princess  reached 
Sergius  safely,  and  placed  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Fly,  little  mother — by  the  way  you  came — fly  !  O  God  !  it  is  too 
late — too  late." 

"  No,  I  will  not  fly.  Did  I  not  bring  you  to  this?  Let  death  come 
to  us  both.  Better  the  quick  work  of  the  lion  than  the  slow  torture  of 
conscience.  I  will  not  fly.  We  will  die  together.  I  too  believe  in  God 
and  Jesus  Christ,  His  Son." 

She  reached  up  and  rested  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  The  repe- 
tition of  the  Creed  and  her  companionship  restored  his  courage,  and 
smiling,  despite  the  tears  on  his  cheeks,  he  said  : 

"  Very  well,  little  mother.  The  army  of  the  martyrs  will  receive  us, 
and  the  dear  Lord  is  at  His  mansion  door  to  let  us  in." 

The  lion  now  ceased  galloping.  Stopping  over  in  the  west  quarter 
of  the  field,  he  turned  his  big,  burning  eyes  on  the  two  thus  resigning 
themselves,  and  crouching,  put  himself  in  motion  toward  them — his  mane 
all  on  end,  his  jaws  agape,  the  crimson  tongue  lolling  adrip  below  the 
lips,  bent  upon  his  prey.  The  near  thunder  of  his  roaring  was  exultant 
and  awful.  Nilo,  taking  position  between  the  devoted  pair  and  their 
enemy,  shook  the  net  from  his  shoulder  with  practised  hand,  and  pro- 


i68 

ceeded  to  give  an  example  of  his  practice  with  lions  in  the  jungles  of 
Kash-Cush.  Keeping  the  brute  steadily  eye  to  eye,  he  managed  so  that 
while  retaining  the  leaden  balls  tied  to  its  disengaged  corners  one  in 
each  hand,  the  net  was  presently  in  an  extended  roll  on  the  ground  before 
him.  Leaning  forward  then,  his  hands  bent  inwardly  knuckle  to  knuckle 
at  his  breast,  he  waited  the  attack — to  the  beholders  a  figure  in  shining 
ebony,  giantesque  in  proportions,  Phidian  in  grace.  Tamerlane  stopped. 
Nilo's  intent  was  to  bide  the  lion's  leap,  and  catch  and  entangle  him  in 
the  net.  What  nerve  and  nicety  of  calculation — what  certainty  of  eye — 
what  knowledge  of  the  savage  nature  dealt  with — what  mastery  of  self, 
limb  and  soul  were  required  for  the  feat  '  Just  at  this  crisis  there  was  a 
tumult  in  the  grand  stand.  Those  who  turned  that  way  saw  a  man  in 
glistening  armor  pushing  through  the  brethren  there  in  most  unceremoni- 
ous sort.  In  haste  to  reach  the  front,  he  stepped  from  bench  to  bench. 
On  the  edge  of  the  wall  he  tossed  his  sword  and  shield  into  the  arena, 
and  next  instant  leaped  after  them.  Before  astonishment  was  spent, 
before  they  could  comprehend  the  intruder,  or  make  up  their  minds  to 
so  much  as  yell,  he  had  fitted  the  shield  to  his  arm,  snatched  up  the 
sword,  and  run  to  the  point  of  danger.  There  he  took  place  behind 
Nilo,  but  in  front  of  the  Princess  and  the  monk.  His  agility,  his  amaz- 
ing spirit,  together  with  the  thought  that  the  fair  woman  had  yet  another 
champion,  wrought  the  whole  multitude  into  ecstasy.  They  sprang  upon 
the  benches,  and  those  who  but  a  little  before  had  cheered  the  lion  now 
prayed  aloud  for  his  victims.  Tamerlane  surveyed  the  benches  haughtily 
once,  then  set  forward  again,  intent  on  Nilo.  The  movement,  in  its  sinu- 
ous, flexile  gliding,  resembled  somewhat  a  serpent's  crawl.  And  now  he 
neither  roared  nor  growled.  The  lolling  tongue  dragged  the  sand ;  the 
beating  of  the  tail  was  like  pounding  with  a  flail ;  the  mane  all  erect 
trebly  enlarged  the  head  ;  and  the  eyes  were  like  live  coals  in  a  burning 
bush.  The  people  hushed.  Nilo  stood  firm ;  and  behind  him  the 
Italian,  Count  Corti,  kept  guard.  Thirty  feet  away — twenty-five — twenty 
— then  the  great  beast  stopped,  collected  himself,  and  with  an  indescrib- 
able roar  launched  clear  of  the  ground.  Up,  at  the  same  instant,  and 
forward  on  divergent  lines,  went  the  leaden  balls ;  the  netting  they 
dragged  after  them  had  the  appearance  of  yellow  spray  blown  suddenly 
in  the  air.  When  the  monster  touched  the  sand  again  he  was  completely 
enveloped.  And  before  the  spectators  realized  the  altered  condition 
Nilo  was  stabbing  him  with  the  short,  glistening  sword.  The  pride  of  the 
Cynegion  lay  still — then  the  benches  found  voice  ;  "  Free  !  free  !  Sergius 
is  free  !  Heaven  hath  signified  its  will." 


169 


THE    DILEMMA. 

BY   JOHN    S.    WOOD. 
An  adaptation  from  "  Yale  Yarns." 


(Printed  by  permission  of  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  Publishers.) 
INTRODUCTION. 

Little  Jack  Homer  had  been  over  to  New  London  to  witness  the 
annual  boat-race  between  Harvard  and  Yale,  and  on  the  evening  of  his 
return  several  of  his  friends  gathered  in  his  room  to  hear  the  report,  and 
this  is  what  he  gave  them. 


I  took  my  aunt  and  sister  to  the  hotel  the  night  before  the  race  so 
as  to  be  ready  for  the  morning  boat.  I  found  the  gang  all  there,  the 
hotel  was  crowded,  and  my  aunt  and  sister  had  a  room  just  opposite  to 
mine  on  the  top  floor.  Some  of  the  Harvard  men  had  a  room  next  to 
mine,  and  I  foolishly  unbolted  the  door  between — you  see,  I  know  some 
of  those  dear  Harvard  boys  almost  as  well  as  I  know  you.  Well,  they 
celebrated  a  good  deal  in  the  usual  Harvard  way,  up  to  about  three 
o'clock,  and  then  things  quieted  down  and  all  hands  went  to  sleep. 

When  I  woke  up  it  was  broad  daylight.  I  sprang  out  of  bed  and 
looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  and  the  race  was  to  be  at 
eleven.  I  rushed  about  the  room  looking  for  my  clothes,  but  my  clothes, 
my  valise  and  everything  was  gone.  I  looked  in  the  next  room,  I  looked 
out  in  the  hall — there  wasn't  a  soul  in  sight.  My  aunt  and  sister  were 
not  in  their  room.  I  opened  the  window  and  looked  out.  Crowds  of 
people  were  walking  toward  the  wharf  to  take  the  boat  to  the  race.  What 
was  I  to  do?  Those  dear  Harvard  friends  of  mine  thought  it  a  good 
joke  on  me,  I  suppose,  to  steal  my  clothes  and  take  themselves  off  to  the 
race  without  waking  me  up.  I  shouted  and  shouted,  but  no  one  re- 


sponded.     I  was  nearly  wild   in   my  anguish,  when  I  heard  a  tap  at  my 
door  and  my  sister's  voice  saying — 

•"Jack,  do  hurry.  Aunt  has  a  headache  and  can't  go  to  the  race, 
and  we'll  have  to  go  without  her.  Please  hurry." 

"  Molly,  they've  stolen  all  my  clothes,  those  Harvard  friends  "- 

"  Well,  haven't  you  anything?" 

"  Not  a  thing,  dear,  not  a  thing.  Can't  you  get  me  something  to 
put  on?  I  must  see  that  race." 

"  I  haven't  anything  except  some  dresses  and  one  of  Aunt  Sarah's.  " 

"  That's  it !  Get  my  Aunt  Sarah's  black  silk  !  I  haven't  seen 
'Charlie's  Aunt'  for  nothing.  I'll  wear  anything  rather  than  not  see  that 
race  !  " 

Mollie  laughed,  she  had  seen  "  Charlie's  Aunt,"  too.  So  she  tossed  me 
my  aunt's  black  silk  dress,  lace  cap,  bonnet,  and  veil  over  the  transom. 
And  in  five  minutes  I  looked  very  much  like  a  nice  old  lady  out  to  see 
the  sights.  Mollie  was  quick  and  got  me  out  of  the  hotel,  and  we  hurried 
down  to  the  wharf  without  any  one  suspecting  me.  But  there,  alas,  we 
found  the  boat  was  gone  !  But,  as  luck  would  have  it,  one  of  Molly's 
school  friends,  with  a  lot  of  girls  and  Harvard  men  were  going  to  see  the 
race  on  a  private  steam  yacht,  and  were  only  waiting  for  their  chaperons 
to  come  from  the  hotel.  Molly  talked  with  her  friend,  and  introduced 
me.  I  played  my  part  of  "  Charlie's  Aunt "  in  good  style,  and  they  asked 
me  if  I  would  be  willing  to  chaperon  the  crowd.  Well,  I  was  willing,  you 
can  better  believe ;  for  it  was  late,  and  I  wanted  to  see  the  race  the  worst 
way. 

The  Harvard  men  got  us  all  in  their  launch  as  quickly  as  possible, 
and  started  off  just  as  the  real  chaperons  put  in  an  appearance  on  the 
wharf.  They  waved  and  waved  and  shouted,  but  we  weren't  going  to  put 
back;  and  off  we  sped  up  the  river.  I  couldn't  ask  for  better  treatment 
than  I  received.  They  gave  me  the  most  comfortable  seat  in  the  boat 
under  an  awning.  Molly  presented  all  the  girls  one  by  one.  Several  of 
them  kissed  me.  I  pretended  to  be  a  little  seasick  and  retired  to  the 
cabin  to  get  away  from  them.  The  steward  gave  me  some  delicious  clam 
broth.  Then  Molly  came  down  and  said,  "  Aunt,  dear,  we  are  going 
under  the  bridge  now,  won't  you  come  out  on  deck?  " 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,  my  dear,"  I  said,  and  she  whispered,  "  Now, 
Jack,  do  be  careful,  and  don't  begin  to  shout  when  you  catch  sight  of  the 
crew." 

"Oh,  you  can  trust  me,  I've  seen  'Charlie's  Aunt'  three  times." 

Well,  I  went  out  on  deck,  and  they  placed  my  chair  in  the  best  possible 


place  to  see,  and  put  a  footstool  under  my  feet.  Friends,  I  tried  my  best 
to  be  calm  and  easy,  but  the  air,  the  clam  broth,  the  sight  of  the  yachts, 
and  the  great  excitement  I  always  felt,  and  always  shall  feel,  just  before  a 
race  at  New  London — what  chap  could  help  giving  a  yell  as  the  'Varsity 
slipped  out  across  the  river  with  that  perfect,  smooth,  equal,  beautiful 
stroke?  And  there,  boys,  were  four  of  my  old  crew — for  me  to  sit  there 
in  my  Aunt  Sarah's  black  silk  dress  and  see  four  of  my  old  crew,  and  not 
yell ! — and  not  get  up  and  let  'em  know  that  Little  Jack  was  there  with 
his  eye  on  'em,  and  with  them  just  the  same  as  if  he  was  in  the  boat,  and 
rooting  for  'em — well,  it  was  madness  !  Boys,  the  tears  rolled  down  my 
cheeks,  I  was  so  excited.  My  sister  said  it  was  the  bright  sunlight  and 
made  me  put  up  a  parasol ! 

And  then,  out  came  Harvard,  in  very  good  style,  too,  and  lined  up 
alongside.  There  was  but  a  very  little  delay,  then  they  were  off  !  Harvard 
jumped  away  with  the  lead,  but  it  didn't  last  long.  Yale  slowly  walked 
up.  Well,  when  Yale  forged  a  foot  or  two  ahead,  I  could  stand  it  no- 
longer.  I  jumped  up  on  my  chair  and  yelled,  "  Yale  !  Yale  !  Yale  ! 
Brekity  Kex — coax — coax — got  'em  again — got  'em  again  !  Paraboloo  ! 
Ya — ale  !  !  !  "  Then,  I  sat  down  in  a  hurry,  and  you  ought  to  have  seen 
my  Harvard  friends.  You  know  what  a  voice  I've  got — it  reached  across 
the  river,  and  yon  chaps  on  the  "  moving  grand  stand  "  heard  it  and 
yelled  back.  Consternation  reigned  on  our  yacht !  Not  only  on  account 
of  the  race,  but  on  account  of  me.  My  sister  pinched  me  until  I  nearly 
yelled  again,  pulled  my  shawl  close  around  my  neck  and  told  them  it  was 
only  a  "  paroxysm,"  whatever  that  was. 

"  Your  aunt  seems  quite  disposed  to  give  vent  to  her  enthusiasm," 
said  one  of  the  Harvard  men.  "  But  I  hope  you  will  persuade  her — as 
this  is  a  Harvard  yacht — we  would  prefer  not  to  encourage  Yale." 

"  I  think  I  never  heard  such  a  shrill  cry,"  said  another.  "  I  fancy 
your  aunt  must  have  been  in  great  pain." 

"She  has  not  been  well  for  a  long  time,  trouble  here,"  and  my  sister 
sadly  touched  her  forehead.  The  girls  looked  at  me  more  in  sorrow  than 
anger.  They  believed  I  was  deranged.  When  we  came  up  alongside  of 
our  crew,  who  were  resting  on  their  oars,  just  under  the  great  bridge,  a 
Harvard  man  leaned  down  and  calmly  whispered  in  my  ear,  "  Yell  all 
you  want  to.  Yell  ! — we've  a  plan  to  '  do  '  you  up  later,  and  you  may 
as  well  have  all  the  fun  you  can  out  of  it  now  !  " 

I  thanked  him  and  stood  up  and  yelled  !  I  gave  'em  the  rebel 
yell  "  Whah-o-o-o  Yale  !"  three  times. 

When  we   returned,  I  was   the  last  one   to  step   into  the  launch  to  go 


172 

ashore,  and  a  Harvard  man  quietly  gave  me  a  sudden  push,  and  over  I 
went,  head  first,  into  the  water.  My  sister  screamed,  but  they  pretended 
they  didn't  notice  anything  and  the  launch  sputtered  off  leaving  me  to 
swim  ashore,  or  go  down  and  see  the  oysters  below.  The  sailors  aboard 
the  yacht  looked  over  the  side  and  laughed  at  me. 

Indeed  I  must  have  been  a  queer  looking  object  !  My  bonnet  came 
off  and  floated  away  in  the  water  as  I  started  for  the  shore.  After  a  few 
minutes  swim,  I  was  glad  enough  to  hear  a  familiar  voice  call  out,  "  Hello, 
Jack,  is  that  you?  What  in  creation  are  you  doing  in  that  rig?  " 

I  told  them  it  was  all  right,  I  was  just  out  for  a  swim  in  a  hired 
bathing  suit. 


MY  DETECTIVE  INSTINCT. 

BY    EMMA  M.  WISE. 


(Copyright,  1897,  by  the  Shortstory  Publishing    Company,  Publishers  of  "  The  Black   Cat."     Printed 

by  Permission.) 

It  was  my  first  experience  as  a  detective.  Up  to  that  time  I  had 
never  played  a  part  except  in  amateur  theatricals  at  home. 

This  is  the  advertisement  responsible  for  all  the  mischief: 

"  WANTED — A  lady  detective  for  about  a  week  in  a  private  boarding- 
house.  One  who  can  make  acquaintances  easily  preferred.  Address, 
stating  price  per  day,  by  whom  employed  in  the  past,  reliability  and 
references.  (Letters  confidential.)  XYZ  Daily  Telegram." 

Under  the  glow  of  its  influence  I  indited  the  following  letter  to  XYZ  : 

"  Having  no  case  on  my  hands  at  present,  I  will  investigate  the 
trouble  at  your  boarding-house  for  $5.00  per  day,  exclusive  of  room  and 
board.  I  am  reliable,  energetic  and  faithful.  My  business  is  always  kept 
strictly  private,  therefore  I  must  beg  to  be  excused  from  giving  the 
particulars  asked  for.  Neither  do  I  sign  my  name  when  communicating 
with  a  total  stranger.  Should  you  care  to  hear  from  me  further,  address 
me  under  cover  of  LMN  Daily  Telegram." 

And  on  Tuesday  morning  when  I  called  at  the  Telegram  office  for 
my  mail,  I  received  my  first  surprise. 

"  Call  at  my  home  tomorrow  (Tuesday)  at  three  o'clock  for  interview. 

"  (Mrs.)  JANE  RENNECKER,  360  Oak  street. 
"  P.  S.     Do  not  delay.     There  is  a  thief  in  my  house." 

The  letter  was  not  in  itself  startling.  Neither  was  it  strange.  The 
surprise  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  writer  was  my  own  landlady  ! 

For  more  than  six  months  I  had  been  living  in  fancied  security  at 
360  Oak  street,  had  become  pretty  well  acquainted  with  all  the  boarders, 
and  I  rapidly  took  a  mental  photograph  of  all  the  habits,  peculiarities 
and  dispositions  of  each  as  I  remembered  them.  In  the  first  place,  the 
servants,  Mrs.  Rennecker,  her  son  Jasper,  and  I — Constance  Stewart — 
were  undoubtedly  above  suspicion.  The  guilty  person  must  be  one  of 
six  young  men  living  on  the  second  and  third  floors.  It  might  be  Mr. 
Baker  who  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  table  and  ate  all  the  celery.  I  had  never 


liked  Mr.  Baker  very  well,  anyway.  Or  it  might  be  Mr.  Ketchum,  who 
walked  in  his  sleep;  or  Mr.  Haikness  might  have  done  it;  Mr.  Harkness 
smoked  cigarettes.  Then  there  was  Messrs.  Williamson,  Doyle  and 
Bentley.  Mr.  Williamson  sniffled  when  eating  soup,  Mr.  Doyle  bit  his 
nails,  and  Mr.  Bentley  laughed  to  excess  and  said  "  Sure  thing  "  to  every 
remark  addressed  to  him.  All  these  were  reprehensible  habits  but  not 
exactly  criminal,  and  I  did  not  like  to  suspect  anybody  unless  it  was  Mr. 
Baker. 

But  whoever  the  thief,  mine  was  the  hand  that  must  bring  him  to 
justice,  and  the  first  thing  to  do  was  to  pretend  that  I  was  somebody 
else. 

I  went  down  town  and  bought  a  black  wig,  a  pair  of  eyeglasses  and 
a  ready-made,  tight-fitting,  black  cloth  dress,  with  a  stiff  collar.  I  paid 
a  week's  rent  on  a  small  room  at  No.  98  and  turned  it  into  a  temporary 
dressing-room,  whence  I  emerged  at  a  quarter  before  three. 

Mrs.  Rennecker's  eyes  were  blue ;  they  rested  on  me  only  fleetingly. 
They  evidently  fathomed  nothing.  Then  she  began  : 

"  What  is  your  name,  please,  and  where  are  you  stopping?  " 

"  Ada  Mosby.     My  address  is  98  Chestnut  street." 

It  was  the  first  lie  I  had  told — and  I  was  amazed  at  my  glibness. 
Evidently  my  new  role  was  exactly  suited  to  my  abilities. 

"  It  is  needless  to  waste  time  on  preliminary  explanations,"  said  Mrs. 
Rennecker.  "  I  could  tell  by  your  letter  that  you  are  experienced  and 
capable." 

I  blushed  a  little  at  that  and  began  to  feel  sorry  for  Mr.  Baker. 

"  We  will — ah — proceed  to  business  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Rennecker. 
"  I  have,  I  regret  to  say,  a  thief  in  my  house.  A  woman. 

"  She  has  been  boarding  with  me  for — ah — six  months.  She  calls 
herself  an  artist.  Her  name  is  Constance  Stewart." 

I  felt  as  though  I  had  severed  all  relation  with  the  established  system 
of  gravitation  and  was  whirling  through  space  with  the  bronze  figures  of 
Washington  and  Napoleon  on  the  mantelpiece  attending  me  as  satellites. 
When  I  recovered  myself  she  was  saying  : 

"  She  is  the  worst  kind  of  a  thief.  She  comes  into  your  house  and 
robs  you  in  such  a  way  that  she  cannot  be  denounced.  She  has  robbed 
me  of  something  of  inestimable  value.  She  has  stolen  my  son's  heart. 

"  My  son,  Jasper,  is  desperately  in  love  with  her,  and — he  is  already 
as  good  as  engaged  to  another.  Of  course  it  is  all  her  fault.  In  spite  of 
her  refined  manner,  I  believe  that  she  is  really  both  designing  and  un- 
scrupulous. My  son  Jasper  is  an  eligible  husband  for  any  woman,  and 


she  knows  it.     It's  my  opinion   she  came   here   for  the   sole   purpose  of 
marrying  my  son. 

"  To  begin  with,  she  is  decidedly  good  looking,  and,  as  I  said,  refined 
in  manner.  She  has  soft,  light-brown,  waving  hair,  which  she  wears  short, 
a  fine,  fair  complexion  and  a  distinguished  presence.  You  see,  I  admit 
her  attractiveness.  She  has  not  much  money,  I  believe,  and  earns  her 
living  by  decorating  china.  Oh,  to  look  at  her  you  would  fancy  her  a 
gentlewoman.  She  gave  me  excellent  references,  too.  But  there's  some- 
thing wrong  with  her.  I've  been  gifted  with  an  almost  supernatural 
power  of  divining  human  nature,  and  I  am  positive  that  there  is  some- 
thing wrong  with  her.  What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  become  intimately 
acquainted  with  her  and  find  out  what  it  is.  The  end  justifies  the  means. 
My  son  is  a  particularly  high-minded  young  man,  and  if  I  could  only  go 
to  him  and  say,  '  Miss  Stewart  is  unworthy  of  your  love,'  and  prove  it  to 
him,  his  affection  would  turn  to  hate." 

"  Pardon  me,  but  does  she  know  of  your  son's  love?  " 

"  Know  it?  Naturally,  when  that  is  what  she  has  been  working  for 
all  the  time.  But  my  son  has  never  spoken  to  her  on  the  subject.  He 
is  very  reserved.  I  should  have  never  known  of  his  love  for  Miss  Stewart 
if  I  had  not  found  him  one  day  standing  over  her  photograph,  looking  at 
it.  I  could  not  forbear  questioning  him.  '  Do  you  love  her,  Jasper?' 
I  said. 

"  '  Better  than  all  the  world,'  he  answered.  '  I  have  cared  for  her 
ever  since  she  came  here,  and  I  want  to  make  myself  good  enough  for 
her.' 

"  As  a  general  thing,  a  man  thinks  he  is  a  little  better  than  anything 
else  in  the  world.  When  you  hear  one  of  them  talk  as  Jasper  did  you 
may  know  his  is  a  seriou§  case.  Indeed,  Miss  Mosby,  I  am  very  proud 
of  my  son.  He  is  a  great  student ;  he  is  the  soul  of  honor.  We  are  an 
excellent  family.  You  see  it  is  an  unfortunate  attachment  of  which  he 
can  never  be  cured  except  by  positive  proof  of  her  unworthiness.  You 
must  be  the  doctor.  The  medicine  may  be  bitter,  but  he  must  take  it." 

"But,  why  do  you  not  let  your  son's  happiness  stand  paramount  to 
your  own  wishes  and  strive  to  bring  about  this  marriage  instead  of 
thwarting  it?  " 

"  Because,  I  don't  like  her.  In  spite  of  her  attractiveness  my 
intuition  tells  me  that  she  is  not  good  enough  for  him.  And  besides,  I 
wish  him  to  marry  his  cousin.  Yet  I  dare  not  ask  Miss  Stewart  to  leave 
this  house,  for  that  would  make  Jasper  desperate  and  bring  things  to  a 
crisis.  Are  you  ready  to  stay  here  now?  I  want  you  to  meet  her 


i76 

to-night.     Come  upstairs.     I  will  show  you  the  room  you  are  to  occupy. 
It  is  next  to  hers.     I  wish  you  to  be  close  to  Miss  Stewart." 

By  6  o'clock  I  was  installed  in  the  hall  bedroom  in  the  capacity  of 
Ada  Mosby,  the  detective.  At  6.30  I  went  down  to  dinner.  Mrs. 
Rennecker  went  into  the  dining  room  with  me  and  introduced  me  as 
"  My  friend  Miss  Mosby  from  Pittsburgh."  I  was  motioned  to  a  seat 
beside  Jasper  Rennecker  and  directly  opposite  my  own  chair.  I  had 
never  given  more  than  a  passing  notice  to  my  landlady's  son  until  that 
evening.  But  the  revelation  of  the  afternoon  had  made  him  a  figure  of 
considerable  importance  in  my  estimation.  I  glanced  up  at  him  when- 
ever I  could  do  so  with  impunity,  and  my  newly  aroused  detective 
instinct  perceived  many  fine  points  about  him  hitherto  unobserved,  and 
when  he  looked  into  my  face,  I  thought  his  dark  eyes  the  most  expressive 
I  had  ever  seen.  It  was  strange  I  had  never  noticed  all  that  before. 

Dinner  was  half  over  before  my  name  was  mentioned. 

"  I  wonder  where  Miss  Stewart  is  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Baker,  at 
length. 

"  I  wonder,  too,''  said  Mrs.  Rennecker.  She  looked  worried,  and  I 
could  see  that  the  probability  that  I,  as  Mr.  Hyde,  was  not  going  to  meet 
myself  as  Dr.  Jekyll,  was  weighing  on  her  heavily. 

"  I  wouldn't  give  myself  any  uneasiness  about  it  mother,"  said  Jasper. 
"  She  is  able  to  take  care  of  herself." 

After  dinner,  not  having  myself  to  cultivate,  I  did  the  next  best  thing, 
and  began  to  get  acquainted  with  Jasper  Rennecker.  Really  he  was  a 
wonderfully  interesting  man  when  you  once  came  to  know  him. 

The  next  afternoon  I  went  over  to  Chestnut  Street,  doffed  my  detec- 
tive attire,  and  in  the  original  character  of  Miss  Stewart  went  around  to 
360  Oak  Street. 

"Where  on  earth  have  you  been?"  asked  Mrs.  Rennecker.  "I 
wanted  to  see  you  so  badly  last  night.  I  have  a  friend  here  from  Pitts- 
burgh— a  Miss  Mosby.  I  was  telling  her  about  you,  and  she  is  very 
anxious  to  meet  you." 

For  three  days  I  kept  up  the  strain  of  this  double  role,  appearing 
first  in  one  character,  then  in  the  other.  Then  as  Mrs.  Rennecker  had 
become  well-nigh  frantic  with  her  endeavors  to  bring  about  a  meeting 
between  my  two  selves,  I  was  forced  to  desist. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  leave  this  house  again  for  so  much  as  five 
minutes.  The  minute  you  step  out,  Miss  Stewart  steps  in." 

I  had  been  there  ten  days.     Jasper  and  I  sat  on  the  porch  one  even- 


ing  when  suddenly  he  said  :  "  If  you  keep  this  thing  up  much  longer, 
you'll  drive  mother  crazy." 

"  Keep  up  what  thing,"  I  said. 

"This  detective  business.  You  could  fool  mother,  but  not  me. 
She  doesn't  love  you  as  I  do.  I  was  behind  the  portiere  at  your  first 
interview,  and  knew  you  were  Constance  Stewart  the  minute  I  heard  you 
speak." 

"You  did,"  I  gasped.     "And  what  did  you  think?  " 

But  what  he  thought,  and  what  he  said,  and  what  I  said,  I  shall  keep 
to  myself.  That  evening  Ada  Mosby  stepped  out  of  the  house,  and  sent 
the  following  telegram  : 

"  Have  seen  Miss  Stewart,  and  learning  of  her  engagement  to  your 
son,  have  thrown  up  the  case.  Shall  not  return.  ADA  MOSBY." 

Out  of  consideration  for  Mrs.  Rennecker's  feelings,  neither  Jasper 
nor  myself  have  divulged  to  her  the  history  of  that  telegram  and  the  epi- 
sode that  led  up  to  it. 


i78 


WILLIAM    HENRY. 

BY   J.  L.    HARBOUR. 


(By  permission  of  the  Author.) 

What  William  Henry  would  do  next  was  a  problem  that  kept  his 
aunt,  Dorinda  Hatch,  in  a  state  of  constant  unrest,  for,  as  she  expressed 
it,  "  What  William  Henry  does  next  is  always  so  much  worse  than  what 
he  did  last  that  I  can't  be  prepared  for  it,  no  matter  what  it  is." 

"  If  he  wasn't  the  only  child  of  my  only  sister,  and  she  dead  and  in 
her  grave,  and  if  I  hadn't  promised  her  on  her  death-bed  to  take  William 
Henry  and  be  a  mother  to  him,  I  couldn't  stand  it  at  all  if  it  wasn't  for 
the  fact  that  I  know  William  Henry  doesn't  mean  to  make  so  much 
trouble." 

There  was  nothing  really  mean  or  vicious  about  William  Henry ;  but 
lie  was  woefully  heedless,  and  had  a  surprising  capacity  for  mischief, 
although  only  ten  years  of  age  and  hardly  as  large  as  the  average  boy  of 
eight. 

"  He  can  think  of  more  things  to  do  in  one  day  than  ten  other  boys 
can  think  of  in  a  month." 

One  day  in  May,  Aunt  Dorinda  fell  to  worrying  because  William 
Henry  had  led  a  blameless  life  for  three  whole  days. 

"  When  William  Henry  doesn't  do  anything  upsetting  for  three  whole 
days  he's  either  going  to  come  down  with  a  sick  spell  or  he's  going  to  do 
something  extraordinary." 

But  William  Henry  was  not  at  that  moment  engaged  in  doing  any- 
thing "upsetting."  The  day  was  rainy,  and  the  boy  was  up  in  his  Aunt 
Dorinda's  attic,  examining  the  varied  contents  of  some  old  trunks.  He 
was,  it  is  true,  creating  a  great  deal  of  disorder,  but  a  little  disorder  gave 
her  no  concern. 

William  Henry  had  probed  to  the  bottom  of  a  small  red  chest  con- 
taining nothing  but  old  papers  and  letters  and  books,  when  he  picked  up 
a  faded,  yellow  pasteboard  card  about  six  or  eight  inches  long  by  five  or 
six  in  width.  On  the  card,  in  large,  black  letters,  was  printed  :  SMALL 
POX  HERE. 


179 

On  the  back  of  this  gruesome  relic  was  written  in  Aunt  Dorinda's 
angular  hand,  "  This  card  was  tacked  to  my  Father's  front  door  from  Jan. 
icth,  1845  to  Apr.  i6th,i845  durin  whitch  time  my  father  and  two  of  my 
ants  and  two  brothers  and  one  sister  had  smallpox.  One  ant  died  but  all 
the  others  got  well.  I  did  not  have  it  as  I  was  not  Born  until  the  next 
yeer.  There  was  an  eppydemic  of  smallpox  here  in  1845  but  it  was  not 
fatal  except  in  the  case  of  my  ant  and  2  others." 

William  Henry  took  the  card  to  the  one  cobwebbed  window  of  the 
attic,  brushed  the  dust  from  it  with  his  sleeve  and  slowly  spelled  out  his 
aunt's  bad  writing,  then  he  buttoned  the  card  under  his  jacket. 

"  I'm  going  to  show  that  card  to  Jack  Hooper,"  he  thought.  "  He 
was  bragging  the  other  day  that  he  had  had  two  uncles  die  of  yellow  fever, 
and  he  acted  as  if  he  didn't  believe  it  when  I  said  I'd  had  an  aunt  die  of 
the  smallpox.  I'll  show  him  if  I  didn't  !  I  wish  I  could  find  something 
up  here  to  prove  how  one  of  my  great-uncles  was  blown  up  in  a  boiler 
explosion — he  acted  as  if  he  didn't  believe  that,  either." 

Unable  to  find  such  evidence,  and  the  sun  having  suddenly  shone 
forth,  William  Henry  went  down-stairs,  where  his  aunt  set  him  to  sweep- 
ing the  rain  and  some  drifted  cherry  blossoms  from  the  front  porch.  He 
had  begun  to  perform  this  task  when  the  card  slipped  from  under  his 
jacket  to  the  floor  of  the  porch.  William  Henry  picked  it  up,  punched  a 
little  hole  in  it  and  hung  it  on  a  nail  driven  into  a  pillar  of  the  porch,  on 
which  his  aunt  daily  hung  the  card  to  call  the  iceman. 

When  the  front  porch  was  swept  the  side  porch  needed  William 
Henry's  attention.  Just  as  he  had  finished  sweeping  it  Dan  Covel  came 
running  up  to  him  and  reported  that  the  heavy  rains  has  caused  the 
river  to  rise  like  "  all  fury,"  so  that  there  was  the  delightful  prospect  of  an 
overflow  in  the  lower  part  of  the  town.  At  this  exciting  news  William 
Henry  hurried  away  to  the  river  with  Dan.  The  forgotten  smallpox  card 
was  left  hanging  on  the  post. 

An  hour  later  Aunt  Dorinda  was  seated  by  an  upper  front  window 
sewing,  when  she  saw  old  lady  Draper  come  in  at  the  front  gate. 

"Dear  me  !  "  thought  Aunt  Dorinda,  "  I  hope  she  hasn't  come  to 
stay  all  day.  She's  as  deaf  as  a  post  and  it  hoarses  me  all  up  to  screech 
to  her  the  way  I  have  to." 

But  Aunt  Dorinda  was  saved  this  ordeal,  for  when  she  went  down  to 
the  front  door  to  admit  her  visitor  she  was  amazed  to  see  the  old  lady 
turn  on-  the  lower  step  of  the  porch  and  go  hurrying  toward  the  gate, 
screaming  in  affright : 


i8o 

"  Go  back,  go  back,  'Rindy  Hatch  !  Don't  you  come  nigh  me  ! 
Oh,  my  land  !  I'll  ketch  it,  sure  as  shootin'  !  Go  back  " 

She  waved  her  hands  frantically  and  glanced  back  over  her  shoulder 
in  terror. 

Once  outside  the  gate  she  turned  and  called  shrilly,  "  Who's  got  it?  " 

"  Got  what?"  asked  Mrs.  Hatch,  but  when  she  stepped  out  on  to 
the  porch  Mrs.  Draper  cried  out  sternly,  "Don't  you  dare  come  nigh 
me  !  "  and  fled  down  the  muddy  road. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  switched  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hatch,  as  she  stepped 
back  into  the  house.  "  If  that  don't  beat  me  !  I've  heard  before  that 
there  was  insanity  in  her  family." 

She  went  back  to  her  window  and  had  hardly  taken  up  her  sewing 
when  she  saw  a  man,  unmistakably  an  agent  of  some  sort,  enter  the  gate. 

"  I'll  make  short  shift  of  him,"  said  Aunt  Dorinda,  irritably,  as  she 
went  down  stairs.  "I  don't  want  any  book,  or  furniture  polish,  or  patent 
nutmeg  grater,  or  soap,  or  imperishable  lamp-wick,  or  nothing  !  And  I'll 
tell  him  so  !  " 

But  just  as  she  opened  the  door  the  man  turned  and  fled  so  pre- 
cipitately that  he  slipped  on  the  wet  boards  of  the  walk  and  fell  headlong. 
He  sprang  up  with  all  possible  speed  and  the  latch  of  the  gate  not  work- 
ing readily,  he  jumped  over  the  fence  and  ran  down  the  road  without  a 
word. 

"  Well,  upon  my  word  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hatch.  "  I  wish  I  could 
get  rid  of  all  agents  that  easy.  I  declare  if  the  fellow  isn't  running  still !  " 

Half  an  hour  later  an  extremely  dirty  tramp  came  shuffling  down  the 
road  and  stopped  at  the  gate.  Aunt  Dorinda  watched  him  from  her  seat 
by  the  window.  He  came  half  way  up  the  walk,  and  when  Mrs.  Hatch 
raised  the  window,  he  too,  turned  and  fled  without  even  looking  back. 

"  There  must  be  something  skeery  about  me,"  said  Mrs.  Hatch. 
"  I'll  see."  She  went  to  a  mirror  in  the  room  and  looked  at  herself. 

"I  don't  see  but  what  I  look  as  I  always  look,"  she  said.  "  I  know 
I'm  rather  homely,  but  I  never  knew  that  I  was  homely  enough  to  scare 
a  tramp  out  of  his  senses." 

The  Hatch  house  was  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town.  '  The  nearest 
house  was  a  considerable  distance  down  the  road.  Old  Mrs.  Draper  had 
stopped  at  this  house,  which  was  occupied  by  a  family  named  Jaynes. 

Soon  after  the  disappearance  of  the  tramp  Mrs.  Hatch  saw  Teddy 
Jaynes,  a  boy  of  thirteen,  come  up  the  road.  When  he  reached  the  gate 
he  began  to  scream  at  the  top  of  his  voic"e,  "  S-a-a-a-y  !  S-a-a-y  there  t 
Mis'  Hatch  !  " 


Mrs.  Hatch  raised  the  window,  whereupon  Teddy  threw  a  good- 
sized  stone  with  such  violence  that  it  dented  the  front  door.  "  There's 
a  note  tied  to  the  stone,"  he  called  out. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  acting  so?     Come  here  and  tell  me  !  " 

"  Not  much,  I  won't  !  "  retorted  Teddy.  "  Ma  said  for  me  not  to 
go  inside  the  gate  or  I  might  ketch  it  !  She  said  for  me  to  run  like 
lightning  soon  as  I'd  thrown  the  note,  and  I'm  going  to  !  "  and  away 
he  sped. 

"  Another  lunatic,"  said  Mrs.  Hatch.  Smoothing  out  the  crumpled 
bit  of  paper,  she  read  : 

"  DEAR  MRS.  HATCH — We  are  very  sorry  to  know  of  the  dreadful 
affliction  that  has  been  visited  upon  you  and  would  be  only  too  glad  to  do 
anything  we  could  do  at  such  a  time.  We  are  extremely  anxious  to 
know  who  has  it,  and  if  it  is  Mr.  Hatch  will  you  please  hang  a  red  cloth 
out  of  your  upper  south  window,  which  we  can  see  plainly  from  our  side 
porch.  If  it  is  William  Henry  please  hang  out  a  white  cloth,  and  if  it  is 
your  dear  old  mother  hang  out  both  a  white  and  red  cloth.  You  can't 
tell  how  sorry  we  are  for  you,  and  we  sincerely  hope  that  all  will  come 
out  well.  MARY  C.  JAYNES." 

"Well,  I'm  beat  !  I've  no  more  idea  than  the  man  in  the  moon 
what  Mary  Jaynes  means  !  I'd  like  to  see  myself  hanging  out  red  and 
white  rags  without  knowing  what  I'm  hanging  them  out  for  !  I  know 
what  I'll  do  !  I'll  go  straight  down  to  the  Jaynes's  and  ask  them  what 
they  mean,  that's  what  I'll  do  !  " 

A  few  moments  later  Mrs.  Hatch  went  down  the  road,  holding  her 
calico  skirts  well  up  out  of  the  mud.  She  looked  anxious  and  irritated. 

Teddy  Jaynes  was  swinging  on  the  front  gate,  and  when  he  saw  her 
approach  he  sped  into  the  house.  The  next  moment  half  a  dozen 
frightened  Jaynes  faces  appeared  at  the  front  window  and  said,  in  a  tone 
of  entreaty  : 

"  Please  don't  come  any  nigher,  Mrs.  Hatch  !  If  there  is  anything 
we  can  do  for  you,  say  so,  and  we'll  do  it  gladly,  but  don't  expose  us  all 
by  coming  into  the  house  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !     I'm  coming  in  to  find  out  what  you  meant   by  sending 
me  that  silly  note  !     I'm  going  to — >; 

She  started  toward  the  house,  when  not  only  the  window  but  all  of 
the  shades  were  pulled  down,  and  all  the  response  she  got  to  her  knock- 
ing on  the  door  came  from  Mrs.  Jaynes,  who  seemed  to  be  speaking  from 
some  place  of  safety  and  seclusion  upstairs. 

"  Go  away,  Mrs.  Hatch  !  "  she  said,  sternly.     "  I  want  to  be  neigh- 


182 

borly  and  do  what's  right,  but  I  can't  and  won't  have  you  come  into  the 
house.  Please  go  away  !  " 

This  made  Mrs.  Hatch  so  indignant  that  she  said,  hotly,  "  Well,  I'll 
go,  Mary  Jaynes,  and  I'll  stay  gone,  and  I'll  thank  you  never  to  darken 
my  door  again  !  "  And  Mrs.  Hatch  departed,  angrier  and  more  puzzled 
than  before. 

She  entered  her  own  domain  by  a  side  gate  and  door  and  thus  failed 
to  discover  the  small-pox  placard. 

She  had  been  at  home  about  one-half  an  hour  when  she  saw  Miss 
Nancy  Dart,  a  warm-hearted,  elderly  woman  who  lived  in  the  village, 
approaching  the  house. 

"There  comes  Nancy  Dart,"  said  Mrs.  Hatch,  "  I  wonder  if  she'll 
have  a  fit  and  streak  off  crazy  like  every  one  else  who's  been  here  today." 

But  Nancy  Dart  walked  boldly  to  the  door  and  rang  the  bell. 
When  Mrs.  Hatch  '  hurried  down,  the  somewhat  emotional  Nancy 
exclaimed  : 

"  I've  heard  about  it,  Mrs.  Hatch,  and  I've  come  right  up  to  stay 
with  you  and  see  you  through  it.  You  know  I'm  a  born  nurse,  and  I've 
had  the  disease,  and  I  haven't  forgot  how  good  you  were  to  me  when  I 
had  typhoid  fever  so  long,  five  years  ago.  I've  brought  things  enough  in 
my  bag  to  do  me  a  month  and  I'm  going  to  stay  and  help  you  out,  and 
don't  you  feel  so  dreadful  over  it  all.  Everybody's  dreadful  sorry  for  you, 
and  I  don't  think  that  the  town  authorities  will  insist  on  any  of  you  being 
carried  to  the  pest-house,  for  you  live  so  far  out  and  kind  of  isolated.  I 
met  Jonas  Dyke,  one  of  the  selectmen,  on  my  way  here,  and  he  said  he 
didn't  think  you'd  need  to  go  out  to  the  pest-house  if  you  was  properly 
quarantined  here.  Now,  who's  got  it !  " 

"  Got  what,  Nancy  Dart?  " 

"  I'd  say  '  what '  with  a  smallpox  card  on  my  front  porch,  Dorindy 
Hatch!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Just  what  I  say  !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  know  that 
there  is  a  smallpox  card  on  your  front  porch  post?  " 

Nancy  stepped  out  on  to  the  porch,  and  pointed  to  the  card ;  Mrs. 
Hatch  stared  at  it,  then  she  said  : 

"  It's  some  of  William  Henry's  doings.  I  knew  something  awful 
would  come  of  his  being  so  good  three  whole  days." 

"And  you  haven't  any  smallpox  here?  " 

"  No  more  than  you  have." 

"  Well,  it's  all  over  town  that  you've  smallpox  here." 


Mrs.  Hatch  groaned  and  said  sternly,  "  I'll  settle  with  William 
Henry  !  " 

The  fact  that  William  Henry  had  had  no  intention  of  causing  so 
much  trouble  did  not  save  him  from  his  aunt's  wrath. 

"A  boy  like  you  never  gets  a  punishment  amiss,"  she  said,  "and 
I've  let  you  go  many  a  time  when  I  ought  to  have  whipped  you.  So* just 
take  off  your  jacket,  William  Henry  Myers  !  " 


184 


THE    BOOKS   OF   THE    BIBLE. 


{Practice  with  great  care — boldly.] 

In  Genesis  the  world  is  made  by  God's  creative  hand ; 

In  Exodus  the  Hebrews  march  to  gain  the  promised  land  ; 

Leviticus  contains  the  Law,  holy,  and  just,  and  good ; 

Numbers  records  the  tribes  enrolled,  all  sons  of  Abraham's  blood 

Moses,  in  Deuteronomy,  records  God's  mighty  deeds ; 

Brave  Joshua  into  Canaan's  land  the  hosts  of  Israel  leads 

In  Judges  their  rebellion  oft  provokes  the  Lord  to  smite ; 

But  Ruth  records  the  faith  of  one  well  pleasing  in  His  sight. 

In  First  and  Second  Samuel  of  Jesse's  son  we  read  ; 

Ten  tribes  in  First  and  Second  Kings  revolted  from  his  seed ; 

The  First  and  Second  Chronicles  see  Judah  captive  made ; 

But  Ezra  leads  a  remnant  back  by  princely  Cyrus'  aid. 

The  city  walls  of  Zion  Nehemiah  builds  again, 

While  Esther  saves  her  people  from  the  plots  of  wicked  men. 

In  Job  we  read  how  faith  will  live  beneath  affliction's  rod ; 

And  David's  Psalms  are  precious  songs  to  every  child  of  God. 

The  Proverbs  like  a  goodly  string  of  choicest  pearls  appear  : 

Ecclesiastes  teaches  men  how  vain  are  all  things  here  ; 

The  mystic  song  of  Solomon  exalts  sweet  Sharon's  Rose, 

While  Christ  the  Saviour  and  the  King  "  rapt  Isaiah  "  shows. 

The  warning  Jeremiah,  apostate  Israel  scorns, 

His  plaintive  lamentations  their  awful  downfall  mourns ; 

Ezekiel  tells  in  wondrous  words  of  dazzling  mysteries, 

Whilst  kings  and  empires  yet  to  come,  Daniel  in  visions  sees. 

Of  judgment  and  of  mercy  Hosea  loves  to  tell ; 

Joel  describes  the  blessed  day  when  God  with  man  shall  dwell. 

Among  Tekoa's  herdsmen  Amos  received  his  call ; 

Whilst  Obadiah  prophecies  of  Edom's  final  fall, 

Jonah  enshrines  a  wondrous  type  of  Christ  our  risen  Lord. 

Micah  pronounces  Judah  lost ;  lost,  but  again  restored. 

Nahum  declares  on  Ninevah  just  judgment  shall  be  poured. 

A  view  of  Chaldea's  coming  down  Habakkuk's  visions  give  ; 


«*5 

Next  Zephaniah  warns  the  Jews  to  turn,  repent  and  live. 

Haggai  wrote  to  those  who  saw  the  temple  built  again ; 

And  Zachariah  prophecies  of  Christ's  triumphant  reign. 

Malachi  was  the  last  who  touched  the  high  prophetic  chord, 

Its  final  notes  sublimely  show  the  coming  of  the  Lord. 

Matthew  and  Mark,  and  Luke  and  John,  the  holy  Gospels  wrote, 

Describing  how  the  Saviour  died,  His  life,  and  all  he  taught. 

Acts  prove  how  God  the  Apostles  owned  with  signs  in  everyplace  ; 

St.  Paul  in  Romans,  teaches  us  how  man  is  saved  by  grace. 

The  Apostle  in  Corinthians  instructs,  exhorts,  reproves ; 

Galatians  shows  that  faith  in  Christ  alone  the  Father  loves. 

Ephesians  and  Philippians  tell  what  Christians  ought  to  be  ; 

Colossians  bids  us  live  to  God  and  for  eternity. 

In  Thessalonians  we  are  taught  the  Lord  will  come  from  heaven ; 

In  Timothy  and  Titus  a  Bishop's  rule  is  given. 

Philemon  marks  a  Christian's  love  which  only  Christians  know ; 

Hebrews  reveals  the  Gospel  prefigured  by  the  Law ; 

James  teaches  without  holiness  faith  is  but  vain  and  dead  ; 

St.  Peter  points  the  narrow  way  in  which  the  saints  are  led. 

John,  in  his  three  epistles,  on  love  delights  to  dwell ; 

St.  Jude  gives  awful  warning  of  judgment,  wrath  and  hell ; 

The  Revelation  prophecies  of  that  tremendous  day, 

When  Christ  and  Christ  alone  shall  be  the  trembling  sinner's  stay. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  EXEKOISE. 

PAGE 

POSITIONS,  Bows,  BREATHING  EXERCISES  :  Effusive,  Expulsive,  Explo- 
sive. DRILL  OF  THE  SEVEN  LONG  SOUNDS.  DRILL  TO  ATTAIN 
FLEXIBILITY  OF  FINGERS,  WRISTS,  HANDS,  ARMS.  VOICE  AND 
GESTURE  DRILL,  "  The  Fairies." 7 

II.  EXEKOISE. 

BREATHING  :  Active  and  Passive  Chest,  Abrupt,  Delsarte.  ARM 
MOVEMENTS.  DRILL  OF  THE  SEVEN  SHORT  SOUNDS.  VOCAL 
CULTURE  DRILL.  ARTICULATED  WHISPER  :  Effusive,  Expulsive, 
Explosive.  ..........  10 

III.  EXEEOISE. 

DRILL  OF  THE    DOUBLE   SOUNDS.     ALPHABET    OF    ARTICULATION.     A 

Little  Boy's  Poem  as  recited  by  himself.  .         .         .  13 

IV.  EXEKOISE. 

DRILL  OF  THE  HALF  VOCALS.  FIRST  SET  OF  OPPOSITIONS.  VOICE 
AND  GESTURE  DRILL,  "  Those  Evening  Bells."  DIFFICULT  SEN- 
TENCES FOR  PRACTICE.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  17 

V.  EXERCISE. 

TONGUE  TONES.  NASALS.  ELEMENTARY  DRILL  OF  THE  HANDS  AND 
FINGERS.  VOICE  AND  GESTURE  DRILL,  "The  Arabic  Parable," 
CHART  OF  ELEMENTARY  SOUNDS.  .  .  .  .  .  .21 

VI.  EXERCISE. 

TONELESS  SOUNDS  :  Explosive,  Continuous.  DRILL  OF  INFLECTIONS  : 
Rising,  Falling,  Circumflex.  SPECIAL  INFLECTIONS  :  Exclamations, 
Cries,  Sobs,  Sighs,  Groans,  Laughter.  CADENCE.  CLIMAX.  .  24 


VII.  EXEECISE. 

PAGE 

FRONT  SCALE  VOWELS.  BACK  SCALE  OF  VOWELS.  HEAD,  ARM, 
SHOULDER.  GESTURE,  "  Hamlet's  Advice  to  the  Players."  THE 
NINE  ARTISTIC  ATTITUDES  :  Calm  Thought,  Defiance,  Grief,  Famil- 
iarity, Indecision,  Respect,  Suspense,  Animation,  Exhaltation.  .  29 

VIII.  EXEEOISE. 

TIME  :  Quick,  Very  Quick,  Moderate,  Slow,  Very  Slow.    ELEMENTARY 

DRILL  OF  TIME.      .........     34 

IX.    EXEEOISE. 

FORCE  :  Gentle,  Moderate,  Loud,  Impassioned,  Sustained.  ELEMENT- 
ARY DRILL  OF  FORCE.  ........  40 

X.  EXEEOISE. 

PITCH  :    High,  Very  High,  Middle,  Low,  Very  Low.     ELEMENTARY 

DRILL  OF  PITCH.     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         -44 

XI.  EXEEOISE. 

STRESS  :   Radical,  Final,  Median,  Thorough,  Compound,  Intermittant. 

ELEMENTARY  DRILL  OF  STRESS.        ......     48 

XII.  EXEEOISE. 

QUALITIES  :  Pure,  Oratund,  Oral,  Falsetto,  Aspirate,  Guttural,  Semi- 
aspirate,  Nasal.  ONOMATOPOETIC  :  The  Drum,  Whistles,  Bells, 
Bird  Tones,  Echo.  .  ..  ..  .  .  -51 

XIII.  EXEECISE. 

EXAMPLES  INTRODUCING  TWENTY-SIX  POSITIONS  OF  THE  ARM  :  Deck- 
ration,  Affirmation,  Negation,  Maintaining,  Contempt,  Medita- 
tion, Acquiring,  Threatening,  Animation,  Determination,  Hold- 
ing, Indicating,  Revealing,  Supplicating,  Accusation,  Humility, 
Benediction,  Mental  Convulsion,  Caressing,  Attacking,  Glorifica- 
tion, Rejection,  Acceptance,  Calm  Repose,  Exultation,  Good- 
night. .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  -58 

XIV.  EXEECISE. 

ELEMENTARY  GESTURE  DRILL.     DESCRIPTIVE  GESTURE  DRILL.  .         .     60 

XV.  EXEEOISE. 

PANTOMIMES  :   Meditation,  Listening,  Looking,  Surprise,  Formal  Salu- 
tation, Welcome,  Expectation,  Rejection,  Indignant  Command, 
Arrogance,  Anger,  Defiance,  Fear,  Honor,  Spiritual  Joy,  Appeal, 
Humility,  Prayer,  Faith,  Farewell.    .          .         .         .         .         -63 

Is 


SELECTIONS. 


LADDIE, Author  of  "  Miss  Toosey's  Mission  "     69 

THE  CHARIOT  RACE,  ....  Lew  Wallace 74 

LIFE  FOR  LIFE, Elbridge  S.  Brooks 80 

THE  SILVER  TEAPOT,       .     .     .  Anon .     .     .     85 

THE  BOSTON  VENDER'S  CALL,  .  Anon 89 

How  THE  LADIES  USUALLY  FISH,  Anon 92 

THE    DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGI- 
MENT,      .  Ouida        94 

A  BEDTIME  CLASSIC,  .     .     .     .  J.  L.  Harbour 100 

MRS.  SNIFFINS'  ADVEN  IURE  WITH 

A  DRAMATIC  ELOCUTIONIST,    .  Anon 102 

A  MATRIMONIAL  VENTURE,  .     .  Gertrude  Potter  Daniels,       .     .     .105 

PAPA  AND  THE  BOY,  .     .     .     .  J.  L.  Harbour 109 

THEN  AG'IN, S.  W.  Foss 112 

THK  LITTLE  Tix  TRUMPET,       .  James  Workman 113 

JIMMY  BROWN, W.  L.  Alden 120 

"WAIKIKI," Rollin  M.  Daggett       .     .     .     .     .   122 

THE  STRANDED  SHIP,       .     .     .  L.  Clarke  Davis 124 

PUTTING  THE  BABY  TO  SLEEP,  J.  L.  Harbour 130 

THE  AUCTIONEER'S  GIFT,     .     .  S.  W.  Foss 133 

Quo  VADIS, Henryk  Sienkiewicz 134 

SUNDAY  THIEVES, J.  T.  Trowbridge 140 

THE  MOURNING  VEIL,     .     .     .  J.  L.  Harbour    .     .     .     .     .     .     .145 

A  MEETING  OF  ROYALTY,     .     .  Margaret  Dodge 148 

GOING  TO  THE  CIRCUS,   .     .     .  James  Otis 153 

THE     STORY      OF      CHRISTINE 

ROCHEFORT,        Helen  Choate  Prince 160 

SERGIUS  TO  THE  LION,    .     .     .  Lew  Wallace 164 

THE  DILEMMA, John  S.  Wood 169 

MY  DETECTIVE  INSTINCT,     .     .  Emma  M.  Wise .173 

WILLIAM  HENRY, J.  L.  Harbour 178 

THE  BOOKS  OF  THE  BIBLE,       .  Anon 184 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


uw.    MAR  17  $82 


FEB  1S1982 


315 


3  1158  00739  0395 


MJU 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000092512     3 


